Leather Bound Kitten
by The Pyrat
Summary: Mello is left with nothing after leaving Wammy's House, save his hopes. This is the story of what might have occured during the time-gap, in the five years that nothing was seen nor heard of Mello...
1. Chapter 1

_**Warning: **__Please heed the rating. This story contains graphic yaoi, language, violence, and spoilers. No offense is meant to anyone by anything I've written. Count on many religious themes._

_**Thanks To: **__Mihael Keehl and CabiidO, for their help with the little bit of Mexican-Spanish translations I needed. And Ketsi-Nushi, for answering all my questions about the good old land across the pond, the United Kingdom. And to all those readers of mine who waited so very patiently for this story to be released. Much love to ya' :)_

_**Author's Note: **__On December 5, 2004, Mello left Wammy's House (Death Note volume 13, page 98). On October 11, 2009 Rod says that Mello had been with them for one and a half years (Death Note volume 7, page 198). Therefore, for roughly three and a half years Mello was on his own, and for one and a half years he was with the mafia without even moving against Kira. That's a time gap of five years in which nothing is seen nor heard of Mello. The whole purpose of this story is for me to fill in the time gap with my own imaginings. There shall be more explanation from me at the bottom of the page, but for now, here is Chapter 1._

* * *

"Mello…and Near. Come to my room."

…

L is…what?

No. That's not possible. I've heard wrong, I've misunderstood. L swore he would see Kira brought to justice. It isn't possible that he…that he would…No. No, don't say this to me Roger. What am I supposed to do? If L is…

If L is dead…

Then he must have chosen. Which of us did he…? I don't want to ask. I can't stand to. Sickening fear and anxiety have settled in my stomach. I'm going to vomit…no. Don't. But my hands are shaking, my head feels light. I can see that boy, Near, in my peripheral vision. Sitting upon the floor, calm, uncaring. Slowly fitting the pieces of the puzzle into place, not looking up, not reacting. And his words…

"If you can't beat the game…"

No. No, no, no. I have to know. I worked so hard. I've tried and tried. Surely I was good enough; L must have known, he must have _understood_,how badly I wanted this, to take his place. Surely he would have chosen me.

"If you can't solve the puzzle…"

But I doubted myself. I always had. Immediately dozens of things flashed through my mind. Test scores, so very close to being the highest. Not good enough. Questions I was asked, the answers I gave. They had been intelligent and detailed, but not as much as they should have been. They could have been better, I could have done better, I should have…

"You're nothing but a loser."

L…didn't choose…

It was a relief. Yet, just as quickly as I felt the relief course through me, anger was quick to follow. Then what now? What was to happen? It wasn't as simple as this! L was gone; someone had to take his place! I deserved it more, I wanted it more, I _needed _it more. I clenched my teeth tight, trying to fight down the bile rising up in my throat. I could hardly get my breath. I wanted to scream, to yell at them. Work with Near? How dare Roger suggest it? How _dare _he! Was he mocking me? No, no, I knew he wasn't but…Near…I bit my lip hard. Near had agreed with it, he didn't care.

I felt as if I was suffocating. It was too much. I wouldn't work with him. I would _never _work with that little bastard! This was supposed to be my triumph, I should have been chosen. L should have…he should have chosen…this shouldn't have happened! L wasn't supposed to die!

I couldn't stay in this house. I'd rejected working with Near, so that meant _he_ would take L's place, alone. He'd won. I couldn't walk these halls any longer knowing that. I couldn't look at the kids and feel them looking back, knowing that I'd lost. I was done here. Wammy's House had given me everything it could. There was only one choice remaining for me. I had to do it myself. My own way.

I left Roger's room without looking back, not daring to let them see my face when my eyes were filled with tears of frustration. 'It's not _fair_,' I thought desperately, and even as I did I stumbled slightly, my stomach knotting. I covered my mouth quickly. Don't do it, don't. Be strong, stop crying. My things…I would need clothes.

I went to my room and stuffed whatever I could into a single knapsack. The sock of money under my mattress…some 49 pounds about, I didn't know how long it would last me, but I couldn't even think of that. I took my rosary off the bedpost, the beads cold in my fingers as I snatched it up and put it around my neck. I grabbed my jacket out of the closet and slipped it on. All the rest of the things here…I could let them go. They were nothing to me now.

But one last thing made me pause. My picture, taken mere months ago, tucked safely inside the drawer at my bedside. I went over, opened the drawer and rifled through the papers until I came upon it. Me, smiling at the camera. Happy. Pleased with myself. Proud. I remember why I was happy too. That was the day I'd scored one point higher than Near on a test. We'd been asked questions about the importance of international relations and remaining on good terms with government officials in different countries. One point higher. That precious one point. It didn't take my over all ranking in Wammy's up, but all the same, just that once, I was better. I'd hoped that L would know about it, that he would hear about that test and see how good I was.

I was safer if this picture was destroyed. I'd heard the rumors about the Kira case, about the murderer being able to kill just by seeing a face. Any record of my existence here would put me at risk. But this picture…this was all that was left as a reminder for others that I truly was a contender for Near. And suddenly, an idea came to me. I would leave that reminder of me, this proof that I wasn't going to leave, here. I would leave it for the person I didn't want to ever, _ever _forget me or rule me out. I was leaving, but I couldn't truly be gotten rid of.

So, before I left Wammy's House forever that night, I went into Near's room and I set my picture on his bed. I turned to leave, eager to be gone and have this all behind me, but it wasn't that easy. Nothing ever could be easy, could it?

Near was standing in the doorway behind me, watching me with an expression that was as utterly blank as the puzzle he was fond of. I stiffened at the sight of him, though it was not as if he was standing there boldly or blocking my way. He was actually standing just a bit to the side of my exit, so I could have very easily just marched straight past him. But I couldn't make myself move. This was almost shameful, being caught here in the middle of leaving. I was giving up the house and the title to him, and I hated myself for it. Yet I felt I had no other choice.

"Mello," his voice was soft as he spoke, and calm, the words carefully strung together in such a way that made them dull and cold. "Mello does not have to leave this house. I am willing to work with you."

My face contorted furiously, my hand tightening its grip on the strap of my knapsack. "This isn't all about you," I said, and I was careful to keep my voice low. I didn't want to draw anymore attention. "I can't work with you."

"If Mello would try, then-"

"Then nothing!" I snapped. "_Then _either I'll lose my mind or you'll lose your life!" His eyes widened very slightly, something that probably would have gone unseen to the casual observer. But I was used to watching his face. I was used to searching it vainly for any hint of a reaction, so when one appeared it was as clear as day. "You know that's how it would go Near, you're not stupid." It made my stomach twist to say that. I walked forward and brushed past him, heading toward the doors. "I'm leaving. Don't forget me Near. This isn't over."

Almost beyond my hearing behind me, I heard him speak again, in a whisper. "Thank you for the picture. I would appreciate it if you kept your current cell phone. I may need to call you."

I gave no reply. I just kept walking. But another face I knew, and knew well, made me pause once more. Matt was standing just off to my left in the main hallway, his jaw clenched tight as he watched me. Oh. Damn it, no, I hadn't wanted to see him before I left, I couldn't…

In all my anger this aspect of leaving had eluded me. I was abandoning my friends, I was leaving behind those who actually…_cared_ about me. Matt had been there for me since I arrived here, and I had been about to leave without even saying good-bye.

But he couldn't blame me for that. He had to know it was too hard for me. Everything was confusing enough. My head was already so full of emotions that were trying to take command, adding any more feelings to this whole matter would only make it worse. I was praying desperately that Matt wouldn't try to argue with me, that he wouldn't try to convince me to stay.

"Good-bye Mello," he said softly, and I heard the pain in his voice. He came up to me, hesitating a moment, looking uncertain, before he put his arms around me and said close to my ear, "Don't get killed. If you need me, I'll come okay? I know…I know you can't stand to stay. I heard what Roger said."

I nodded quickly, returning his embrace. I couldn't break down now, I couldn't lose my conviction. After all this…no, I truly couldn't stay. I wouldn't be weak. I wouldn't let myself… "Okay. I'll be fine," I said, my voice hoarse and choked to prevent any emotion from escaping.

It was almost too much. Everything was changing too fast.

…

I was almost fifteen years old. My birthday was a mere eight days away. But still, I was a child. I _looked _like one, and that night I certainly felt like one. I couldn't pass myself off as a man; I was too thin, too small, still too baby-faced to look like an adult. I wasn't even shaving yet. I wasn't sure, but I found it unlikely that any hotel would allow me to rent a room without an ID. Not only that, but I simply didn't have the money to spend on a hotel room, even if it was cheap. This money had to last me as long as I could stretch it, at least until I managed to get a job. As I walked out the gates and left the Wammy's House grounds behind, the reality of what I'd done hit me full-force. Even though I kept on walking, not once pausing to reconsider, all the new challenges that I would now face were suddenly making themselves known, and they were inconveniently late.

However, for now, I would simply have to focus on the difficulties immediately at hand. It was pouring rain, and I would need a place to stay for the night. 'A hot drink would nice too,' I thought longingly as I made my way further into the town of Winchester and found myself peering into the window of a coffee shop that was open late. I should be saving my money; after all, I didn't really _need _anything at the moment. But it was cold and my clothes were already thoroughly soaked by the rain. Just a cup of coffee maybe? That was cheap enough…

So, when I continued on my way again, at least this time I had something hot in my hands. I kept close to the buildings along the street, so the awnings could keep some of the rain off me. There were only a few other people still out, men in their trench coats and women kept dry beneath umbrellas. I tried my best not to draw attention to myself. The curfew in town for minors was ten o' clock, and by then it was at least eleven. I glanced at my watch. Yes, eleven-thirteen. I needed to be off the streets before I ran into a constable and ended up getting toted back to Wammy's. But where was I to go?

Then a thought came to me, as I caught sight of Winchester Cathedral not a great distance ahead of me, its stone steeples rising up through the rain and its lights shining like beacons. Groaning softly at the rain, I made a quick run across the street onto the cathedral's large surrounding lawn, and then up the pathway to its doors. From the outside it looked like an elegant fortress, all stone and skillful architecture. It felt safe.

I pushed open the door, just wide enough for me to slip inside. It had been a long time since I'd been in a church. It was not that I had not wanted to go, I just…hadn't. Laziness. I'd been lazy, that was it. It is so often that this can happen; one will utterly ignore God while all was well, but the moment something goes wrong one will come crawling back for help. The most I could do was send up a silent prayer of apology though, before I carefully shut the door behind me, closing out the cold air and taking a few steps foreword.

The cathedral was very quiet, and my footsteps echoed softly on the stone as I walked to the last row of pews. I put my bag beneath the seat before I let myself take a few moments to look about, tipping my head back to stare at the high vaulted ceiling above me. I then turned to look ahead toward the altar and choir, taking in the delicate architecture that was everywhere. My hand automatically went to grasp at the cross upon my rosary, twirling it about it my hands. Without even consciously willing it, my mouth began to move in the familiar words, those taught to me so many years ago.

"St. Michael, the Archangel. Glorious Prince, chief and champion of the heavenly hosts; guardian of the souls of men; conqueror of the rebel angels. How beautiful art thou…" The words died away before I could finish. It was late; it was dark outside and raining. It was cold. And I was alone. I had never felt so alone in my entire life. I sunk down to the floor, curling up on my knees with the cross clutched in my hand, pressing my fist to my mouth as I wept silently, the tears dripping onto the stone. I couldn't stand it. L shouldn't have died, nothing should have happened this way! I shouldn't have left Wammy's, I shouldn't have _run away_. I hadn't been able to stand it; Near had won, and I had _let _him. I'd rejected the equality with him I was offered and chose instead to run, to let myself be an outcast clawing at the edges of the proud legacy I'd been a part of. L…if only you hadn't…

"Absolve, I beseech thee O Lord," I forced my voice to steady and say the words. "The soul of thy servant from every bond of sin." I paused. I didn't think L had been a religious person, and the next line was to be "that being raised in the glory of the resurrection". So I simply skipped over that, and continued with, "That he may be refreshed among the Saints and Elect through Christ our Lord. Amen."

I sat up and took a shaky breath, resting myself back against the pew. I didn't know what good it had done, if it had done any at all, but it calmed me to say the words all the same. I was so tired, and it occurred to me suddenly that I had gone without a meal that night. My stomach growled hungrily, demanding food that wasn't available. I should have thought to get a pastry from the coffee shop in town, but the idea of going back out into the rain was repulsive. I scrubbed at my face with my hand, trying to wipe away all the damp traces of tears. At least no one had been there to see me; I wasn't one to cry, and I would have hated for someone to know that I had.

L's death itself was not a truly hurtful thing to me. It wasn't possible for it to be. I'd never met him in person. I'd heard about him, idolized him, and strove to gain his attention, yet I'd never seen his face. The only time he'd even directly associated himself with me, with the children in Wammy's as a whole, was through a blaring white computer screen boldly emblazoned with a black Old English "L". The voice that spoke was metallic and robotic, carefully disguised even when speaking merely to children. No personal attachment could have possibly been formed. All this nonsense, the prayers and the tears, I knew were for my own personal comfort. The prayers were old habits, things that were familiar and brought back the memories of a too-short childhood spent with my mother, those calm days when I lived with her in our little house in Piran right on the shores of the Mediterranean. I could hardly remember how that place looked now, but I remember how it felt. It felt like happiness, like my mother's warm smile in the morning. But then…it also felt like sorrow. The worry on my mother's face in the evenings, when another day had passed and my father still hadn't come home.

"_Off to bed Mihael. Father will be home soon. Another letter from him arrived today; shall I read it to you? Here, come sit with me. Let's read it together…"_

Those letters had kept me hoping. They couldn't possibly have done anything for my mother. Of course they couldn't have. They were signed "Father", but she'd written them herself.

There were other feelings in those memories. Anger and disappointment. Those were the days when I'd been happier than I'd ever been in my life, but nothing can ever be perfect. I was still angry, and perhaps I shouldn't have been. It was never my mother's fault, yet she took the blame on herself. She didn't acknowledge the truth, she tried to deny it. In the end, it was understandable that it led to her death.

I reached over to my knapsack and pulled out one of the half dozen chocolate bars I'd managed to stuff into it. I didn't feel like thinking anymore, I didn't _want _to. Everything was just going to make me even more upset. I unwrapped the bar and bit off a corner, knowing it would likely make me feel ill for eating it on an empty stomach. But I didn't care. I craved that smooth texture, the alternating bitter then sweet tastes. I'd read somewhere that chocolate causes one to release the same chemicals in their body that are caused by a sexual attraction to someone. I wasn't sure if that was true, but chocolate did have an awfully nice effect.

"Are you in need of any assistance lad?"

I looked up quickly, surprised to hear a voice so suddenly. An old priest stood there, smiling kindly as he looked down at me. "Oh, no Father," I said quickly. "I just needed to get out of the rain."

"Ahh, yes, quite a downpour isn't it?" he chuckled, lowering himself rather stiffly onto the pew opposite mine. "Thus does the Lord replenish His earth. It's something to be thankful for."

"Yes, sir," I lowered my eyes, wishing he would leave me alone. I could pray every day, but I couldn't be comfortable talking about religion. I would never say I was Catholic, not even if someone asked about the rosary. I would tell them I "just wore it", and leave it at that. I knew a lot of people thought believing in God and chanting prayers was really stupid, and I guess that had rubbed off on me a little. I didn't want to let it go, but I wasn't going to talk about it.

"Rather late to be out, isn't it though?" the priest said, and my eyes jerked up to look at him as I tensed. He shook his head. "Now, now, don't worry over it. The Lord does not question those who come to Him, nor shall I. You're welcome here, if you need shelter for the night."

"Thank you," I said. "I'll leave in the morning. First thing."

"Very well, lad. If you would like a blanket I'll bring one for you." He got to his feet, as if to leave, but paused and glanced back to me, still sitting with my legs sprawled in the aisle as I leaned against the pew. "Though, pardon me, I am rather curious what you're running away from." My eyebrows shot up, my mouth opening at once to deny it, to say I wasn't running from anything, but he held up his hand for silence. "I may be old, but I have yet to go senile," he said. "My memory isn't gone. I remember when I was young, packing up my things and running off in a huff."

"I'm not running away from anything," I said.

"Running _toward _something then?"

I winced. "Rather that."

"Ahh," the man nodded. "The grass is always greener on the other side. At least it would appear so. But at the risk of sounding like a babbling old man giving useless advice, I'll simply say that the grass will certainly be different, but not always greener. I recall once when I first saw prairie grass, I thought it looked ever so much better than the trimmed lawn here outside the cathedral. It was so very lush and thick. A 'rich' sort of grass one might say. But it was no better lad. The thicker, the 'richer' the grass, the more one's feet get tripped up in it."

"I understand what you're saying Father," I said, as I got up to sit upon the pew and put away my chocolate. By that point I was feeling thoroughly exhausted, far too tired to try to think and plan. I needed sleep. "But when there is no grass on one's side of the fence at all, anything else will look greener than dirt."

"Well, I won't tell you to be thankful in all things," he said. "I'm sure you have your reasons. A bad situation will look no better just because of an old priest's ramblings."

"It was a bit more than a bad situation," I said, fairly spitting out the words with bitterness. "If you'll pardon me for saying it in a church, it was complete shit."

"My, well, I believe you lad," he said. "There are some rather unfortunate truths we all must face in life, and such situations are one of them."

"I won't let this be truth," I said. I suddenly had a thought rush through my head, imagining Near answering to "L". I squeezed my eyes shut tight. "I won't let it be! I'll change this truth."

"You'd best be careful doing that," said the old man as he began to walk away. "Truth is truth. If it was anything else, it would be a lie."

I didn't like his implications, if I'd understood him right. What did he mean exactly, "it would be a lie"? Things that were truth changed all the time, but that didn't make them a lie, it just made them a new truth…right? Of course that was right. To say that something changing made it a lie was nonsense. The old man was just foolish, and I didn't bother to call him back to ask him to explain a bit better. I didn't have to listen to people like that anymore anyway. I was living on my own now, taking care of myself. I didn't need to listen to adults share their "wisdom".

I lay back on the pew, putting my knapsack under my head for a pillow and smiling up at the ceiling. I could handle this just fine. Just fine indeed. I was better off working on my own anyway. I didn't need Wammy's House to take care of me. I didn't need Roger looking after me. I would miss Matt…but before my guilt could arise again I swiftly shoved thoughts of him aside. This was for the best. All for the best. I didn't _need _friends. I could handle this on my own.

No more rules, no more scolding. Ah, and no more school books! No more essays and tests! I didn't have to learn advanced trigonometry to prove myself. I'd do that through my actions. I would track down Kira, destroy him, and avenge L, before Near even had a chance to hit puberty.

However, the world can seem very, _very _different when one is tired. Waking up with an empty stomach in a cold cathedral can quite effectively put things in a more logical perspective. I needed food, I needed a plan, and most importantly…I needed money.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **__Ahh, there we go, chapter 1! _

_So, do you wish to know what __**really **__inspired me, originally, to write this? The song Glamorous by Fergie. No, I'm not kidding._

_Now you can count on much exploration of religion throughout the story, simply because I absolutely adore the idea of Mello being Catholic to no end. We can't know if such a thing for Mello was intended by the creators, though most likely it wasn't since all the mangas are filled with religious symbols (however I must point out that Mello has more than his fair share of them). Mind you, I'm not thoroughly educated on the Catholic religion. But I did have fun toying around with symbolism :)_

_Now, on the subject of Mello saying he grew up in Piran, on the Mediterranean: Piran is in Slovenia. Why Slovenia? Because according to the website Behindthename, "Mihael" is the Slovenian spelling of "Michael". (But for more on my research of the origin of Mello's name you'll have to see my LiveJournal). __**I am not trying to say that it is canon for Mello to be from any specific country.**__ We're never told in canon where he is from. Please don't tell me he's from Russia or Germany or Sweden or wherever else :) I'm just going off what I got from researching his name._

_I also had a lot of fun just exploring Mello's personality on a more in-depth level. There are so many freaking ways to make him act it's insane, even with the boundaries of "emotional" and "inferiority complex". But there are some things about him in canon that really fascinate me, and I kept my mind on them as I was writing this story. First, how he is seen sitting calmly and unaffected as mafia members are killed, yet later insists that he doesn't want to kill Soichiro or Sayu. And second, which is most interesting to me, is that when he kidnapped Takada, he actually thought to bring a blanket for her. Though that last one was probably just the creator's way of quickly getting rid of him, it's still there, and I find it interesting._


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note**__: It was wretchedly hot today. One hundred and eleven degrees, and I had to be outside in it for a big police family gathering. So I got home later in the day, but regardless, here is chapter 2!_

_Agh, please tell me where I've spelled things wrong. My stupid SpellCheck on Microsoft Word hates this story and refuses to correct it. It sucks, and I just know there are spelling errors in this._

* * *

Perhaps it would seem odd to some that the first thing I sought out that morning was a bath. It was certainly not as if the cathedral had showers, nor as if I could easily find a private place to wash, but that all really didn't matter. Water calmed me and helped set my mind straight, and I liked to feel clean. You know the way your face feels after you cry, all dry and dirty. Perhaps you've experienced wearing clothes that are soaked and then dry on your body. None of it results in one feeling very pleasant, and I certainly didn't. So after I had left the cathedral early that morning at sunrise, then ate and paid for breakfast in a little café, I followed the little river that flowed past the mill in hopes of finding a place where the water was a bit shallower and secluded. I suppose I certainly could have just washed up in a public bathroom, but the idea revolted me. It put me in mind of the poor and homeless, the pitiful, the beggars…I couldn't bear to associate myself with such a thing. I would not think of myself as homeless or poor, though it was true that I certainly no longer had a home and having hardly more than forty pounds to my name could not possibly be considered wealthy or even well-off. But I would not remain this way for long. I would get together a plan, and everything would be fine. I could take care of myself.

I finished off my chocolate bar from the previous night as I walked, and I couldn't help it that my mind kept wandering off to Wammy's House, wondering what was happening there now. Had the other children been informed of L's death by then? Did they care? They'd all see that I had left and Near remained…my whole body burned with sick humiliation as I thought of that. I could insist to myself I hadn't run away all I wanted, but "running away" was all anyone else would see. Mello lost and Near won, so Mello ran away…

The cheap breakfast and rich chocolate collided in my already uneasy stomach, and I paused a moment at the roadside to fight off my nausea. Damn, I couldn't keep on like this. I had to get over it. Yes, it was humiliating, but this path I had chosen would require suffering if anything was to come of it. No…simply this life, life at all, required suffering, whether something was to come of it or not.

I was sitting on a low stone wall beside the road, and I glanced behind me to look down at the water. There was a little shore here, with reeds and low trees obscuring a view of the water from the road. It was good enough. I lowered myself over the wall and dropped the few feet to the shore, where I left my knapsack close to the wall and stripped off my clothes. It occurred to me that I would have to find a place where I could get these clothes washed. It would be impossible for me to obtain and hold a job if I wore filthy clothes all the time, unless I chose a disgusting profession.

The water was cold as I stepped in up to my ankles, already shivering in the breezy weather. Still, this cold temperature was blessedly warm and unusual for December here. I couldn't hope for this to be a reoccurring thing. The bottom of the river felt hard yet slick, my feet touching on algae-covered pebbles. The water got deeper quickly, and without further hesitation I went forward until I could crouch down and submerge myself almost completely. The reeds were thick around me, and I found myself rather liking this, being able to bathe so close to bustling humanity and yet still remain unseen, hidden in my own little world within the reeds. I smiled as I rubbed my hands over my body and splashed the water on my face, letting the cold thoroughly wake me. Over my chest my fingers went, across my shoulders and briefly my throat, playful little touches that gave me chills. I tangled my hands in my hair and tugged at it briefly, then moved my hands down again over my arms to my legs, just feeling my skin and exploring my body, the different angles, the lines, and the slight curves. I liked the way it felt under my fingers.

My mother used to always tell me that I was such a handsome boy. _"You look very much like your father," _she would tell me. _"He had blond hair like this, and fair skin. He was a very good looking man. You will be too someday, Mihael." _I had to agree with her, especially now that I was older and more aware of my looks. I remember when I found a GQ magazine in Wammy's, lying abandoned in the common room. I never discovered who it had belonged to, and I'd simply left it there when I was done with it. But I'd looked through it, examining all the pictures and seeing what was considered handsome, even beautiful, in this world of male models. I'd rather fancied the idea that I looked like some of them, that I had the correct bone structure in my face and that my skin was pure and clean looking like theirs.

I moved my hands just a bit more, lightly touching low on my stomach and then testing myself, seeing just how low I had to go before I got that little thrill that came whenever my fingers trailed far enough downward. But I'd already spent enough time in the water; I didn't have time for playing, and the weather was already getting colder. I walked back through the reeds to the shore, and after a moment's pause I dried off with my clothes from the previous day, then put on the some of the clean stuff I'd brought along. With that I was prepared to actually start the day effectively…only I didn't know what I was supposed to _do_.

I needed to find a place where I could work, first and foremost. It was true that I'd need plenty of other things too, like a place to stay. I couldn't possibly keep spending nights in the church. No matter what the old priest said, if I stayed there long enough he'd eventually contact someone to try to place me with who I belonged. I walked back a ways up the road and got a newspaper to search through the job listings, trying to find somewhere that would likely hire me. I was intelligent, and knew I would do perfectly fine at many of these jobs. But there were problems. For starters, my age. I wasn't exactly old enough to get a job in a common store yet, not even being fifteen yet when the minimum age was set at sixteen. Then there was my lack of identification. I had no national insurance number, and my birth certificate was still under lock and key in Wammy's House. I was sure all this would have been handled for me if I'd chosen to leave Wammy's properly. But I hadn't. I'd left foolishly, and now I was paying the price for it.

I'd always been told I let my emotions take control of me too easily. That no good could come of such a thing was a lesson I'd never managed to learn.

…

I spent the day visiting all the places I could find in the paper where I thought I'd have a chance of getting hired. I filled out several applications, but I didn't have much hope in any of them. I lied about my age, and the line on which I was supposed to write my security number I left blank. It was useless, and I knew it. But I filled them out and handed them in, so I would at least feel as if I was doing _something_.

At the end of the day I had walked miles all over Winchester, and with dark clouds looming over my head I still had no where to return to but the cathedral. Throughout the course of the day I'd bought myself lunch and several bottled waters, so when dinner came it really pained me to hand over even more of my money. It was dwindling away, and far too quickly. There were ways I could make it last, even cheaper foods I could buy…but still, in only a little time, every bit of it would be gone. And then what? _Then _I'd have no choice but to return to Wammy's. I couldn't do that. Even as a last resort, I wouldn't want to go back there. As if I hadn't already shamed myself enough, going back there because I hadn't been able to handle it on my own would be unbearable. That couldn't happen.

So I had one last hope. A dingy, dirty, low-ceilinged market, tucked away in the lower-class part of town. I'd seen the "Help Wanted" sign in the window earlier that day but hadn't gone in, only because the man within had watched me go by with a look I didn't like. But I was desperate now. Dislikable looks or not, I needed a job and I was ready to take just about anything that I could.

Though it was quickly growing dark and a light snowfall had begun, rather than heading back to the cathedral I walked back across town, hoping I would find the market still open. It was, and the man was still sitting there behind the register, balanced on a tall stool and chewing at his already short nails. I paused just outside, uncertainty plaguing me as I glared into the dark interior. This wasn't the kind of job I'd envisioned for myself. To make matters worse, I knew right about now Near would probably be preparing for _his _new job, taking on L's title, which was far more glamorous than this. He would inherit L's fortune and his connections. He was getting it all, yet here I was…

No. I couldn't think like that. This was the best way, the _only _way, I could have chosen. There was no point in looking back and regretting it. So I set my face, changing my uncertain expression to one of confidence, and I went forward straight up to the counter.

The man had his head down, holding a magazine in his hands, and he merely raised his eyes to glance at me as I approached. Though he was sitting down, I could tell that he wasn't much taller than me, making him pretty damn short. "Hey," I set my hands flat upon the counter as I came up, demanding his attention. "I want a job."

At least that got his head up. He straightened up to look at me, his neck arching back and his head tipping slightly to the side. I wondered for a moment if he might be drunk. "You want a job kid?" he said. He nodded toward the sign in the window. "We've got jobs here."

"Good. Will you hire me then?"

He got off his stool and leaned on the counter. The magazine he had been reading was therefore very plainly open in front of me, and I realized it was a porno. Seeing that only elevated my discomfort with the situation, but I didn't let it show. "What can you do?" he asked. "Can you stock shelves? Take inventory? Make sure no nasties are coming in here and making off with goods without paying?" He patted the register. "Can you count out change?"

I knew I shouldn't have, but for him to ask such questions of me as if I was stupid pricked terribly at my pride. I frowned, and said, "Sir, I can stock any shelf you give me. I can inventory well enough to work for the Queen herself. If any even tries to so much as _step_ toward the exit with something unpaid for they'll get their ass kicked. And," I leaned foreword slightly, "I can add, subtract, multiple, divide, graph, fraction, and solve any algebraic problem you throw at me. I've studied limits, derivatives, integrals, and infinite series. I can explain, in detail, the fundamental theorem of calculus. I know the law of sines, cosines, and tangents. And while we're on the matter of my education, I've also studied advanced thermodynamics and quantum chemistry. If you _still _don't think I'm good enough for this job, just let me tell you that not every clever dick who comes in here has written and aced essays on the relativistic quantum field theory, nor can they understand Lorentz force law of electromagnetism. I assure you, _sir_, I can stock your damn shelves."

There were several moments of silence. I suppose his brain was still trying to analyze everything I'd said, if "analyze" was even a word one could use in reference to this man. He smiled slowly, beginning to chuckle. "Those are a lot of fancy words," he said, and sat back down upon his stool. "You're quite the proud little thing aren't you? Though you'd be better suited to one of these," he waved his filthy magazine at me, "I'll give you a job. Be in here tomorrow at eight. I'll have plenty for you to do."

I nodded. "Got it. What's the pay?"

"2.25 pounds per hour."

My eyes widened. "Are you mad? That's not even minimum wage! You can't pay me that little!"

"You're in no position to be trying to tell me what I can pay," he said, and smirked at me as he reached over and flicked my head. "Eh, little boy? I'm your last chance aren't I? I saw you earlier today, going around to different stores and such. You're _desperate_. So either you take what you can get, or you go on being a stupid git and you get nothing at all. What's it going to be?"

I grit my teeth in anger, but there was no helping it. Managing to get a job in any of the other places I'd applied to would be close to a miracle, and I couldn't be waiting around for miracles. "Fine," I said. "I'll be here in the morning."

He looked back to his magazine. "Good boy. Don't be late."

…

The sun's light was far gone by the time I got back to the church. I slipped inside with my heart still pounding and fury rushing through me. It was pointless anger. But all my life I'd been allowed my pride. I'd always been able to think of myself as something great, if not the greatest than at least among them. My mother had plenty of money; she'd pampered me. The children in Wammy's House never went without; our odd quirks were catered too, and we were surrounded by finery and riches. Maybe I was spoiled…I hated to think it, but I knew I was. I'd grown used to nice things and getting what I wanted. Now, suddenly, with all of that taken away from me, it was a shock. I hated being talked down to, and hated it not being _known _that I was brilliant.

"I'm so much better than this,' I thought. 'I don't belong sleeping on church pews and bathing in rivers. I don't belong working for sick perverts and stocking shelves. This isn't what I belong doing; this isn't my right. My _right _is to be L. I worked hard for it and I earned it."

But I was used to working hard. Even if it was awful and humiliating, even if it was a disgusting environment, I could do it. Though in some ways I had been pampered and spoiled, in other ways I'd had to work so hard all my life, always striving to make something better. I had never been satisfied with my life "as it was". I'd always strove for more. In Wammy's, every day, my obsession with surpassing Near. It grew stronger and stronger, it would sometimes consume my every thought. I wanted nothing more. I had to be better. Work harder, study longer. And when I was young, before my mother died, I'd been working hard then too…

I didn't want to see the old priest again tonight. I didn't want any lectures or advice. So instead of settling down on a pew as I had last night, I made my way through the cathedral, trailing my hand along the stone walls. I went all the way down to the crypt, and only there, in the silence of that place, did I finally set down my things.

I certainly didn't like being in the presence of dead things. Death was ugly and pitiful, and I hated it. I was quite sure that when I died I would rather be murdered than fade away by disease or old age. I hated to be bested, and of course being murdered was a form of being bested, but just _dying _was worse. If I were to _just die _it would mean my body would give up. It would stop fighting, it would submit. I didn't want that. I would rather be murdered; then others could say of me that "he had so much left in him". Damn right I did. I wanted to die with life and fight still in me, not pathetically wasted away.

But then…there was that other way one could die too.

Suicide.

I was familiar with it, but I couldn't decide what to think of it. Was it brave? Cowardly? Was it honorable, as Japan's ancient samurai had thought? Or was it damnable and sinful, as the church said? How does it feel to be pushed that far, to go to the brink of such despair that one would end their own life? I couldn't imagine just giving up like that; not me, I couldn't do it. There was always a purpose in continuing to live…wasn't there?

It seemed that I sat there for a long time, leaning against the wall behind me with my mind thinking slow thoughts. Vague memories, years old, circling in my mind like little fish in a pond…

…

_Sunshine. It was bright as it reflected off the Mediterranean, and the waves made it ripple and sparkle. I loved to watch it. I'd often climb up on any rooftop I could, whether it was the school roof or one of the houses on the way home, and I'd watch the sun on the water. I was told I should never look at the sun, so I never did; I looked at its dazzling reflection. Somewhere between space and earth, all that yellow fire became pure white hot light, and when it hit the water it became liquid, and one could pick it up and hold it in their hands and splash it on their face. _

_Mother never minded if I was late coming home. As long as I was home not long after dark, she wouldn't worry or get mad. I never had homework, though it was assigned to me, for I did it on lunch breaks and quickly after classes, therefore further enabling me to have my long hours sitting up on rooftops without fear of falling behind in school. But it was hunger that drove me down from my rooftop perch that evening. Sometimes I could hold off from eating for longer, and I'd stay to watch the sunset, but not today. I'd eaten my last chocolate bar earlier that day during school, and I knew mother would be making something good for dinner. She was a skilled cook, the kind of person who could make even vegetables taste good._

_I climbed off the roof the same way I'd come up, crawling down to the edge, lowering myself to a windowsill, and using the fence as a final step down to the ground. I didn't think the man who lived there had appreciated me climbing about on his roof, but I ran off down the road far too quickly for him to scold me. "Stari! Tudi pocasen! Nyaah!" I stuck my tongue out in his direction, eliciting some far from complimentary words in response, making me laugh. I skipped off, dodging into narrow alleyways between buildings, zig-zagging in my own nonsense shortcut home. _

_I found the door unlocked, as it always was, and the scent of spices wafted out to me as I opened it. I dumped my schoolbag just inside the hall and pulled off my shoes, then went over to the small table where mother always left the mail. I rifled through it, but there was no letter from father this time. All just advertisements, and only a few at that. There were never any bills; father always had them forwarded to him, wherever he happened to be, and he paid them._

"_Mama?" I called, peering into the kitchen and expecting to see her at the stove, waiting to greet me with a smile as she always did. But she wasn't there. The table was set for one and food had already been put upon the plate. All the pots and pans she'd used to cook had already been washed and put away. I frowned slightly, but went over to the table, the delicious scent drawing me in. There was a small note tucked beside the plate, written in my mother's handwriting, and I picked it up to read it._

_**Mihael,**_

_**Eat your dinner without me. I'm feeling ill, so please don't come to my room. Go ahead to bed, and tomorrow please go to the Cathedral of St. George and tell the priest to come see me. I would like you to go to school as usual after you have sent him here Mihael. **_

_**I love you, my dear son. I am sorry.**_

_**Mama**_

_I knew mother would sometimes have bouts of sickness. It was stress, the doctors would say. She'd stay in bed for a day or so but be fine after that. However, she'd never asked me to send for the priest before. We'd go to church on Sundays, most of the time, and mother would often go to confession when we did. I didn't know why, as I couldn't imagine what she could possibly be doing that was so wrong. _

_I didn't think her demand particulalry strange at the time. Unusual, yes. But it didn't strike as being so unusual that I was worried. I ate my meal, which had cooled down quite a bit from sitting on the table, but I didn't mind. The proper thing to do then, of course, would be to get ready for bed. I suppose I had always been rather deviant, for I certainly didn't do as mother had instructed me. The results of disobediance were so often some unhappiness that need not have occurred that one would think I would have learned by then. But I hadn't. I never ceased to go against the better judgement of my elders and shatter their instructions to pieces._

_I crept upstairs, moving quietly as I went to my mother's room. Her door was shut, and for a few moments I pressed my ear against it, trying to hear if she was coughing or breathing hard, or if there was any sound at all. There was none. Nothing but utter silence. I curled my fingers around the doorknob, twisted, and pushed it inward._

_She was laying on the bed, with her back to me. I bit my lip softly. Should I be disturbing her while she slept? But I wouldn't wake her. I simply hadn't seen her all day, and it wouldn't be the same to go to bed without seeing her face at least once. I went foreward, trying to keep my feet quiet on the floorboards. But the closer I got the uneasier I became. There was an odd scent in the room, strangely metallic. Like iron perhaps? Mother's body was very still, but people are often still when they sleep…_

_Not this still. One who was sleeping was not so still that they were like stone, nor so cold that it was like touching ice to brush their skin. I stayed at her back, close, but not wanting to see how her face would look now. I could see the deep red stain on the pillow beneath her head, and my breath shuddered slightly. Perhaps it was an odd reaction, perhaps not…but I couldn't bring myself to scream, or even cry. I was very silent, trembling as I touched her hair. I was young; maybe it was that the concept of death could not truly hit home for me yet. But I remember crawling up on the bed and pressing close to her back, and I stayed there rather than going to my own bed. It was awful to feel her so cold, but I couldn't bring myself to leave. I didn't sleep; I just lay still, my eyes wide as my whole body shook and nasueas came and went. Sometime near morning I forced myself to move, feeling as if I was trying to work limbs in which the blood had frozen solid. I peered very cautiously over her body, caught a glimpse of the gun in her hand and the bloody wound in her head, then buried my face in the pillows again. I gagged, and at last the tears came and I wept freely. The ridiculous thought that I should send for the priest as she'd asked occurred to me very suddenly, and though it was still dark out I left the house to go to the cathedral. But not before I had forced myself to take the pure red rosary with its silver cross from around her neck and put it on myself. I clutched the cross the whole walk to the cathedral, and when the priest found me the next morning, huddled on the steps with my fist clenched tight, it was found that I'd held it with such strength that it cut into my hand…_

I hadn't even realized I'd fallen asleep until my eyes jerked open. I was laying in an uncomfortable position on the stone floor in the crypt, and as I sat up I slowly uncurled my fingers from the fist into which they were clenched. My hand was paining me, and it wasn't hard to figure out why; I'd been clutching the cross on my rosary, just as I had that day, and several bloody little cuts were visible on my palm. I sucked each one carefully, trying to sooth them. I'd fallen so deep into my memories that they had followed me into sleep, becoming almost real again in dreams. I was thankful I'd woken when I had. If the memories had continued it would have gone on through the following day, when my mother's body was discovered, along with the first real letter from my father that she had received in years. The letter was simple really; he'd wanted to file for a divorce. He and his mistress were going to marry. It was awful enough that he had left, leaving her to raise a child alone. He may have paid the bills, he may have ensured we could live comfortably, but money can't replace a husband and a father. It was the ultimate rejection, and it was no wonder my mother hadn't been able to bear it. Even at that age I'd known how truly and deeply she was in love with him, and how greatly she longed for him to come back. I realized in later years that she'd probably known he had someone else, but she went on hoping. Maybe she'd thought he'd be decent, and try to keep the family together, if not for her then for the sake of the son he'd abandoned.

I got to my feet, trying to walk off my discomfort and warm up a bit. It was wretchedly cold here…but that might have been partially because of the feeling in my stomach that was sending chills through my whole body. I didn't like thinking about that night, and the way I'd clung to my mother's corpse even though the blood got on my hands and the smell of it nearly choked me. The day after and the preparations for the funeral were more tolerable. It was then that I fully realized the bitterness I had toward my father, and I got the small amount of revenge I could. In a fit of tantrums, screaming, and tears, I made it well known that the only way I could possibly be consoled was if I had my demands fulfilled. I had my mother buried with the finest and most expensive headstone that could be found, one four feet tall and cut of fine marble with a silver plaque engraved with her name. It pleased me to know that it would be my father who received the bill for it.

1 MARBLE STONE, SILVER PLAQUE, unique for SABINA KEEHL.

A last reminder of her. He pampered her with money in life; I would give him no choice but to give her that same pampering in death.

"Bastard," I whispered, fingering my cross as I paced. I paused and leaned against the wall, resting my face on the stone. Of all things to be keeping me up in the middle of the night, these trivial matters of my past. What did they matter now? I'd moved on.

But no. I hadn't. I still wore the cross. Through all the years since, I still wore that damned bloody cross.

* * *

_I read that the average winter temperature in Winchester, England was 32 degrees Fahrenheit. But as I can't find the website that gave me that information, I'll just go with what it says on the Woodland's Junior School website, where it says the average winter temperature in the United Kingdom as a whole is about 40 degrees Fahrenheit. Pardon me if I'm wrong, I'm just getting info where I can :) Anyway, so to me that is terribly cold weather and not at all good for bathing outdoors. I found this information out only after I'd written this chapter however, and I was too lazy to replace the bath scene with something else. So...let's just say it was a warmer day :)_

_Oh yes, I know I was really going into angst-territory there, which isn't my thing, but I just __**had **__to write this story, so it was necessary. Giving Mello a history was so much fun, I just loved doing it even if it was sad._

_Chapter 3 shall be coming soon! I've been so busy, so if there are delays, that's why x.x_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: **__Thanks so much everyone for your help SpellChecking the last chapter :) I feel bad putting up work in which I know there are spelling mistakes, but I have yet to figure out what's going on with my SpellCheck. The weird thing is that it's only being a brat about this particular story…stupid thing -.-_

_Anyway, here it is, chapter 3! Just, you know, heed the rating and all. And…everything has a purpose. It all has a meaning behind it :) Thanks so much for the reviews, I've loved hearing what you guys think of it._

* * *

So it was that the following day, bright and early, I marched myself down to the market before it was even open. I spent those early hours outside the shop, sitting on a bench as I ate a chocolatfe bar with my cheap breakfast. I'd finally got down to real hard thinking, considering what was to be my plan from here on. These thoughts continued throughout the day, even as my new boss, who called himself Rick, set me to work about his store doing the most horrid tasks he could find. Maybe he wanted me to quit. Or maybe he just enjoyed watching me squirm in humiliation but do as he said like a pathetic dog. Either way, I survived the day, and in the process I thought of a good number of things that would prove important.

First, with my goal still to surpass Near, I had to complete whatever task he was working on first. As the new L, Near's task would be to complete the work L had left behind; that is, finding evidence against and capturing Kira. Therefore…

I had to research Kira. I had to discover all that L had about him, and more.

However, Near would be having a lot of aid in his work. He had now inherited all that L had once had, while I was left without. I had hardly any money, I had no connections to anyone with information or power within any country, and in short I had no authority whatsoever. A person like Kira could not be brought down by a mere _nobody_. Kira was a mastermind who was now having great influence on governments and world-wide leaders of all sorts. This was not someone a common person could go up against.

I needed to put myself in a position of power. I needed to make myself someone the world could not ignore, who Near and Kira could certainly not ignore. This game was one being played on a high level of existence, and as of now I was far below it. I was not even worthy of being a player. Somehow, I had to make myself a threat.

I paused, in the middle of scrubbing the especially dirty linoleum at the back of the store on my hands and knees. This was the lowest I could possibly go. I could only improve from here. I would work here only as long as need be. Once I had earned the money to leave Winchester, I would go. But where? London was most likely the best choice; I would have more options available to me there, and it would create the distance I needed between me and my old life.

As for achieving a position of power…such things as government and law enforcement were out of the question. They were too time-consuming, and the rules and restrictions that came with them were too binding; they wouldn't allow me to act as I needed to. But there were still options left, and the first of them that sprang to my mind were the organized crime rings. Such as…the mafia.

They had the sophistication average gangsters didn't. They had the intelligence to gain power in business as well as crime, and they had the proper connections. I'd read enough about them to know. They had influence with the police and with judges. I'd read even of mafia related corruption within the United States government. With them, I would have everything I needed, and none of the restrictions I didn't.

But it wasn't just that easy. I wasn't stupid; I knew I couldn't just _join _the mafia like it was a garden club. It would be hard enough to even get in touch with a member, let alone actually convince him to let me meet his family, and then convince his boss, the Don, to let me join rather than shoot me on the spot. I would have to take time to think it over.

So in the following days I spent whatever free time I had in the library, searching across the web and through books for all the information I could. Once I had a good idea of how the mafioso life worked, then I'd have to actually find a family that would even take the time to spare me a glance. It would be best to try for a smaller family I suspected. But as I uncovered more and more information, I discovered the bias against those of non-Italian blood. Such a person could never become any higher than an associate, a sort of messenger boy, within a family. That wasn't good enough for me, but I couldn't change my lineage.

Up until then, I had planned on staying in England, or perhaps traveling to Italy or some area of Europe. But now, knowing this, my plans changed. I knew the rules of things would be the same, but…I was hoping that in the American mafia, perhaps there would be a greater chance of getting an exception to the rule. After all, it was in New York that Joe Watts was able to rise to a position of power, even though he was merely an associate of the Don John Gotti. As these families were, after all, farther away from their root city of Sicily, it made sense that the rules would become a little more bendable. I would have to find some way to prove myself; somehow, I had to make it clear that making me one of them would bring something good to the family, something they couldn't get elsewhere.

I didn't bother to worry that they wouldn't accept me because of my age. I was sick of having to think of how young I was. If I tried hard enough, and proved myself, age shouldn't be something to stop them. If they thought I was capable, then I saw no reason why they should reject me.

…

But before any of that could become reality, I had to work to even get the money to travel, and it didn't take me long to truly develop revulsion for my new boss. Everything about Rick disgusted me; the way he chewed and spat tobacco from the time I came to work to the time I left, his porn magazines, his language, the tasks he gave me…and the way he looked at me. It made me feel dirty to have his gaze on me, but it was not as if I could very well tell him not to look at me. I needed this job, and though I hated it I had to be careful. I didn't want to give him a reason to fire me. He wasn't touching me, so what did it truly matter? Let him have his perverted thoughts of me; I didn't care. I kept a four inch blade on me from Wammy's, and he'd bleed good if he tried anything.

"So, where'd you come from boy?" Rick asked me one day. He was leaning against the sink in the back bathroom, watching me scrub the toilet. It was one of his sick fetishes to see me go about my digusting jobs, I supposed.

"Shouldn't you be watching the register?" I said, daring impudence and not bothering to care about the risk. I _hated _him. Hated him with everything in me. It was different than the way I felt toward Near; it was closer to the dislike one would feel for a slug that's left a slime trail right in your path…or for a pile of shit. Closer to the latter, definitely.

"You should answer me properly," he said, his voice thick as he spoke through the saliva and tobacco in his mouth. I heard him step closer behind me. "Think of it as a late job interview. Where'd you come from?"

I closed my eyes and counted to five, not having the patience to count to ten. I suppose that made the whole process rather useless, but at least it kept me from snapping out the first obscenity that popped into my head. "I'm from Piran, in Slovenia."

"Is that where the accent is from then? As I suspected."

My body tensed. The idiot hadn't "suspected" anything. He wouldn't know a Slovene accent from Chinese. With my work here finished I got to my feet, and without bothering to spare him a glance I brushed past him to the sink and washed my hands. But I couldn't overlook it when his reflection appeared close behind me in the mirror.

"Can't have those pretty hands of yours dirty can we?" he said. I turned off the water and raised my head defiantly.

"Cleanliness is close to godliness," I said. "And filth, well…what else would that be for than the earth's scum?" I turned, facing him directly, and looked him over. "I'd say your hands suit you."

I was relieved my shift was over for the day. I left directly, leaving him to figure out the insult I'd given him, considering I had never once seen his hands anywhere near clean. But I was furious. It wasn't easy to just walk away. I was used to being able to have my vengeance on those who displeased me whenever I liked. Yet I'd had to endure nearly a week of this treatment and this was the first time I'd taken any sort of action. I was trying my hardest to keep my emotions in check; there was far too much at stake to let them rule me. But as I walked back to the cathedral I amused myself with the idea of getting back at him. At the time my intent was rather murderous.

But my troubles for the day weren't over yet. As I approached the church, I saw the old priest standing on the front steps, speaking with a policeman. I stopped walking and moved myself closer to the building beside me, hoping to stay out of sight. I couldn't hear them from here, but premonition told me the priest had finally gotten too curious for his own good. I'd bet anything he wanted to know why a boy was spending every night in his cathedral, and who he was. That was it then. I couldn't go back.

"Damn it!" I hit my fist against the wall, then pressed my forehead against it and closed my eyes, my breath coming hard. Why now? If only I could have stayed there a bit longer…just long enough to get my first paycheck…trying to pay for even one night in the junkiest hotel I could find would now take all my money. Damn.

"Alright," I whispered. "Stop it. Calm down. I can do fine on the streets." I glanced up at the sky, thankful to find it relatively clear tonight. Hopefully no rain would come, or worse, snow. There had already been a good snowfall several days before, and the remains of it had yet to completly melt. The weather had stayed cold enough to allow plenty of it to remain.

…

That was the first night I spent on the streets. I refused to dwell on it or feel self-pity. I found a sheltered place in an alley close by the market, where old sheets of wood were propped against the wall. I crawled beneath it and lay down with my knapsack under my head, but I couldn't sleep. I tired to imagine that my clothes weren't covered in several days worth of filth, and that I wasn't really beginning to feel the effects of the cheap foods I'd been buying. I tried to pretend I wasn't worried sick about how I was ever going to get out of this situation. Unfortunatly I wasn't a good pretender. I still lay awake for hours.

'I deserve better than this,' I thought, as I stroked my hand along my collarbone, then slightly under my shirt. The night air was far below comfortably cool, and my fingertips were cold, giving me goosebumps as I ran them over my skin. 'This is pathetic.'

I was beginning to shiver, really feeling the effects of the cold now. And I'd thought the crypts in the cathedral were cold; it was nothing compared to this. It wasn't _freezing_, but I guessed it could easily be in the lower 30's. It was no wonder I couldn't sleep. My frustration and this wretched weather…

I thought of rubbing my hands on my arms to try to warm up, but the idea of such rough contact wasn't very appealing to me at the moment. Though they were doing nothing but increasing my shivering, the trailing caresses of my fingers was the more preferable option. They went on, and I moved them up under my shirt to play across my chest. This of course exposed my stomach to the cold, and I twitched slightly as the breeze hit me.

"Don't move," I said softly. "Breath even, and don't make a sound." Self-discipline, giving me the thrill of a challenge. My nail touched one nipple, scraping over it and then pinching it between my first finger and thumb. I rubbed it gently and then the other, until they were both stiff, perky under the careful pampering I'd administered. But enough of that. My hands trailed down over my stomach, where my skin was even softer, to lower still, until my fingers crept beneath the waistline of my pants.

_Should _I feel pathetic? I was an heir to the most prestigious detective in the world, I'd been raised for that purpose, groomed and trained for that duty. I had to remind myself that this was only a temporary thing. This was merely purgatory before I reached my goal. It couldn't last. It _wouldn't_. I wouldn't allow it to. I'd worked hard for my status, and I wasn't going to let it slip away so easily.

My hand squirmed under the elastic band at the top of my underwear, entering forbidden territory and daring to touch what waited there. My breath hitched at the contact, but I quickly bit my lip and fell back into the rythmic pattern. Inhale. Exhale. Let the pleasure build up, but don't react to it.

Purgatory was meant to purify one for heaven. Could this truly compare? It would be so much easier to see this as simply a shitty situation that I'd gotten into because of my own stupid temper. But maybe it wasn't that bad. If I really thought about it…there were good things here…

My hand grabbed hold of my member fully, for a few seconds my fingers splaying and curling around it with the sole intention of getting used to the feel of it again. It had been so long since I'd done this. I'd been neglecting myself.

"That's awful Mihael," I said, whispering my real name, the one that was never supposed to be spoken. "You deserve better."

Damn right I deserved better. But still, this situation _was _a good thing. The children in Wammy's House could read from textbooks day and night, they could write essays, study, and recite, but that didn't change the fact that all their books could never bring to them the true reality of this world. From books alone they could never know what it was like to struggle, they could never understand the minds of those who weren't from their own little world of cleanliness and safety. But L would have known what this was like. According to Watari, he'd found L on the streets and could only suppose he'd lived there as a boy for years.

A small noise escaped my throat, unbidden, a tiny whimper in response to the feeling building up in me as my hand became more determined in its once exploratory ministrations. I wasn't feeling so cold anymore.

L knew what it was like. He'd had to fend for himself too, and that had made him stronger hadn't it? That had prepared him for his work, it had exposed to him to the _real _world. Unlike Near, I would know what it was like to be on my own. Near would always have help, he could never truly understand.

With this I could surpass him. I couldn't imagine him ever being able to survive living this way. He wouldn't get it, he was too sheltered. For all he knew, when I truly thought about it, he was naïve.

I gasped, unable to adhere to my own rules any longer. I remembered well what my body liked most and though my hand went through the motions somewhat clumsily, a naturel result of not having practiced in so long, it still resulted in ecstacy. I stroked myself through the orgasm, feeling the tension that had filled my body melting away as I went limp all over. I blinked drowsily, and already regrets were starting to prick at my mind. Now I certainly couldn't wear these clothes again without washing them, and the stuff on my hand felt uncomfortably sticky and thick. I'd usually done this in the shower at Wammy's, rarely ever in bed…and this was why. But I was feeling too tired to move, let alone actually clean up. I just curled up on my side and closed my eyes, knowing sleep would come quickly for me now.

I heard the cross on my rosary flop against the ground as I turned over, and after a moment's hesitation I reached over and grasped it in my hand. I wasn't sure if that was any better than it lying against the ground though.

…

Despite the late hour at which I finally got to sleep, the sunrise woke me. On any other day perhaps it wouldn't have, but on this day…

"_You were born as the sun rose, Mihael. Two suns rose for me on the same day, both to brighten my world."_

To brighten her world…for all my deviance, I'd tried my hardest to obey her. I'd wanted her to be happy. I'd want to continue being that light for her, the second sun. The day she'd died was when I'd realized I failed in that. I'd never been enough.

I didn't sit up. I just moved my head slightly so the sun's rays hit my face, a bright burst of burning yellow and orange beyond my closed eyelids. Fifteen years old…

I tipped my head back down, unclenching my hand that still held my cross. I expected the sun to glint off the silver, but not on this morning. The semen that had remained on my hand had taken the beauty out of the cross's shine. I'd have to remember to wash it soon.

…

I could only work so many hours in one day, and Rick would usually send me away after about eight hours if I didn't leave on my own. This meant I still had some hours of the day to myself, and I was planning on making good use of them on this particular day. I went to the market as I always did, and today I was determined to be done with letting the guy treat me like crap. He could go ahead and work me, but no more with me being his toy for his fetishes. No more scrubbing floors and toilets. It was fortunate that I arrived to find Rick somewhat more subdued today. He set me about my tasks, the average ones of taking inventory and stocking the shelves. Not only that, but before I left for the day he handed me my first paycheque.

And then I realized the problem. I still had no ID. I therefore couldn't even cash a simple cheque.

It hit me all at once as I stood there, staring at the slip of paper in my hand with satisfaction that quickly changed to despair. Rick didn't overlook my change in expression, and said, "Look kid, we already talked about what you're getting paid here, I'm not going to raise it-"

"No," I said quickly. "It's enough. But…I need it in cash."

His eyes bulged. "Are you _mad_? Who do you think you are, making demands like that, eh?"

"Look, I just need it in cash, alright?" I didn't mean to raise my voice like I did, but this was getting close to unbearable now. I couldn't possibly have just worked here all week for _nothing_, I needed that money! The cheque was made out for 108 pounds; that was too much to work for and just lose, especially with me being as low on money as I was.

"Please," I lowered my voice, trying my hardest not to sound demanding. I couldn't mess this up. "Come on. Rick, I need this money. Just give it to me in cash, _please_." He was shaking his head, and panic rose through me, making me feel sick. "I've worked hard for you, damn it! I've let you watch me scrub your floors and go through the most disgusting jobs you could possibly give me all week! The least you can do is give me my pay in cash. I bet I could report you for paying me so little, and you're lucky I haven't…" I stopped talking. Of all things, he was laughing at me. Outright laughing. My face burned, and damn it, I wished I could have killed him. It was so tempting to reach for that blade of mine and stab him. I wanted to. I wanted to so bad.

"Seems like that head of yours is in need of a bit of readjusting," he said. "First, you keep talking as if I _owe _you something. As if you're doing me a favor by working here. Don't flatter yourself. You're worth nothing more to me than any other bum off the street. This isn't a fancy university boy; I don't have any use for your mathematics and scientific nonsense here. Your 'high education' doesn't impress me, you got it? If anything, I'm doing _you _a favor. I'm letting you work here, no questions asked. Go ahead and try to report me. You've got no evidence. You didn't sign any contracts. If I were to give you that money in cash, I'd be doing you a favor you haven't earned. You have to _earn _things out here in the big bad world, understand? If you want it in cash, you'd better do me a damn good favor."

I already suspected what he would want. But I took a deep breath and asked anyway, "What kind of favor?"

He reached out and straightened my shirt collar, an odd little smirk on his face. "You can start by taking this off and posing for a few photos. Easy stuff. Otherwise you can keep the cheque, and judging by how desperate you are, I'd say you won't be seeing a single pound of it, now will you?"

I knocked his hand away, tucking the cheque in my pocket. "I'm not desperate," I said, and it was a flat-out lie. "And I'm not going to do you any 'favors' either. I'm done."

I should have walked away proudly. It should have been some kind of epic, disdainful exit. But it wasn't. I knew I was lying, and he did too. Right then, I needed that money more than anything in the world. At this point, it was take the money or go back to Wammy's in complete disgrace.

But I kept myself steady as I walked. I didn't betray how I really felt; I forced my face to be utterly blank. Control your emotions. Control them. They've done no good in the past. Perfectly calm, even serene, in the public eye. But in private, back in that narrow alley where I'd spent my last night…

I gagged, spitting up bile into the slushy snow. "This is what you get," I snapped at myself harshly. "This is what you get for working with scum!" But it was all part of the same road. From here, working under a pornographic photgrapher, I wanted to join the mafia. How was it any better? Because they wore trench coats and fedoras, because they had money? Because they looked cool, while Rick looked like the trash he was? Ha! It was no different. None of it. Mafiaso or porn model, how was one any better than the other? It was all part of the underworld of criminal society, the kind of people _I was supposed to be against_! L would be against them, and what else was my goal but to surpass Near and claim the title as L? What else was my goal than to become someone L would have been proud of and personally chosen to take his place?

I struck my fist against the wall, then again, again and again, until I had to stop from the sheer pain of it. I sunk down to the ground, my knuckles bruised and bleeding and my whole arm trembling. I didn't bother to try to sooth it, I just flexed my fingers and let the blood run down them. My other hand fumbled for my rosary, old habit kicking in as I twirled it around and around.

"Lord Jesus, there is anger in my heart and I cannot root it out," utterly pointless words, the ones my mother would encourage me to say when I had worked myself into a fit. "I know that I should calm down and offer the hurt and disappointment to You  
but my emotion is running away with me. Help me to overcome this weakness and give me peace of heart as well as mind. Let me learn from this experience and grow into a better human being. Amen."

I waited. I closed my eyes and kept my breathing deep, and I concentrated on that prayer again and again in my head. Slowly, as I felt myself calm, I took the cheque out of my pocket. 108 pounds…that would be enough to buy a train ticket to London, and I'd still have some money left over to live off of until I could find another job and get enough to buy my way over to America, if that was really what I wished to do. What other choice did I have? I knew it was wrong and probably against what L would have wanted…wasn't it?

That one time I'd heard L speak exclusively to the children in Wammy's, he'd explained his way of living, the reason he solved cases. It wasn't for the sake of justice. It was a game, it was all for winning. It was for the sake of having something to challenge his intellect. Good and evil, right and wrong, hadn't really mattered to him; at least, that's how he made it sound. Then was what I was doing…or planning to do…alright? Would L have thought it was fine?

'Would God think it was fine?' I bit my lip. I didn't even want to think about that, yet there it was pricking at my mind, a needle of guilt stabbing away at me. How could I actually be considering this? Taking my clothes off for Rick, letting him take photos so other perverts could see me as well. All for this cheque in my hand, for money I'd already earned. 108 pounds.

Was it worth it?

Is that the price I would put on myself? My body for 108 pounds in cash? But it wasn't as if Rick would actually _use _me. It was just photos. That wasn't so bad really, was it? I wasn't going to be touched by anyone, and once I had the money I could be out of this town for good. Of course there was the issue of my safety, in that photos of my face couldn't be allowed to circulate…but there were ways around that. As long as my face wasn't shown I was pretty sure my identity would be safe, not only from the general public but from Kira as well. After this, I could be on my way to finally doing something of use. L would have done anything necessary to solve a case when he was alive, and for so many years I'd wanted to be just like him. All I was doing was what _had _to be done. It was all going toward the end goal, to bring down Kira and surpass Near. L wouldn't have looked on this decision with disapproval…no, all he would have seen in this was that I was fully prepared to take whatever measures necessary to win.

Only pictures…people would see them, and lust after me, but they couldn't touch me. They couldn't have me. They'd probably never even meet me. All they'd see was a body they'd like, something they would desire but that was far out of their reach.

I smiled very slightly. It was almost like boasting, wasn't it? Showing off and taunting; I'd done that my whole life. Why couldn't I do it now too?

* * *

_Ah, I forgot to mention this before. I've said in this story that Mello never had any contact with L beyond his voice from a computer. Of course, going off of what it says in Another Note, Mello almost definitely did meet with L at some point, and I adore that information because it can allow some awesome storylines to be more "canon". However, I do view Another Note as being "separate" from the rest of Death Note, since it was not actually written by Tsugumi Ohba. Therefore I can't consider it __**quite **__canon. So therefore in this story, I'm just going off the information provided in DN Chapter 109, in which Near says that the children in Wammy's House never met L :)_

_Chapter 4 shall be coming soon! If you find any spelling mistakes in this chapter, please don't hesitate to tell me :)_

_Oh yes! I almost forgot to say this. I'm spelling "check" as "cheque" because I read that was how it's spelled in England. And since Mello is still in the United Kingdom...that's how I decided to spell it :)_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Author's Note: **__Well, I'm pretty sure my SpellCheck is fixed now (because my Matt is tech-smart :D). So at last there should be no spelling errors! Yay! Of course, I still won't bite if you happen to find anything and point it out, SpellCheck doesn't always catch it all._

_Thanks for all the reviews everyone, it's awesome to be able to put this story up at last! On to Chapter 4!_

_P.S. If you leave a question in your review about the story, I likely won't reply to the review itself right away, but if your question pertains to an important thing I forgot to put in my notes, I may edit the chapter and put up the answer that way :)_

* * *

Though I'd made my choice, I still hated to go back to that market. I could attempt to make the situation seem perfectly good all I wanted; that didn't change that in a way I was giving up. I was submitting to what Rick wanted and letting him have his way. It was humiliating, but I had to continue to remind myself that it was all for the end result. All I could do was try to maintain my pride despite it. I was nervous and uncomfortable as I walked back, my hand constantly going to the sheathed knife I had tucked beneath my pants and belt. It wasn't as if I was going to hand full control over to the man. This was _my _decision, and one way or another I would have the final say it what would happen.

"Well, well," Rick smirked at me as I came in, looking me over as he leaned against the counter. "Look who changed his mind."

"I have terms," I said, refusing to take the bait and lash out at him, as much as I wanted to. "If you don't abide by them I swear I'm leaving, money or not. And I _will _turn you in."

He shrugged. "Whatever kid. This is good business for both of us, so I can compromise."

"My face can't show in any of the pictures," I said. "Other than that, just don't touch me."

He laughed. "Oh, so you don't want a bad reputation? Well I hate to break it to you, but I'm not going to be using mosaic. It pretty much ruins the picture."

"I'm not asking for you to," I said, and sighed heavily. Damn, I was hating this more and more by the second. It was as if my body was blushing all over, and in the middle of it all was an awful cold feeling in my stomach. My hand clutched at the rosary, turning the cross around and around. "Come on, you're an...artist….aren't you? You can make it look good. Put a full blindfold on me if you have too, or a mask. Just as long as my face doesn't show. That shit is erotic anyway, isn't it?"

He still chuckled, but this time he nodded as well. "Alright. Sounds good to me. You ready then? We'll head back to my place and get this done."

"Fine." But no, it wasn't fine. None of this was fine. I knew Rick lived in an apartment just behind the market, and as I followed after him out the back exit once he'd locked up the shop early, I kept having to tell myself harshly to get a grip

'Stop it!' I thought, commanding my hands to stop shaking. 'It's only photos! Just stupid, stupid photos! It doesn't mean anything!' I couldn't even put my finger on exactly _why _I even bothered to care. But I was going against some of the most precious rules I'd ever been taught; not only going against them but shattering them to bits. Not that I'd ever cared about rules, but not showing off my body as if it were a sex toy was something so deeply ingrained in me it was almost simple nature. My mother, in her gentle way, had warned me against taking sexuality lightly. The subject of illegal porn had been studied extensively at Wammy's. And even worse there was the cross I was now nibbling on lightly, a screaming reminder that if all this religion crap was real I was damning myself to Hell right here and now.

That's heavy stuff. Maybe it was understandable that I was trembling.

Rick's apartment was on the first floor, and as he unlocked the door and flicked on the light I felt as if I'd been punched in the stomach. "Home sweet home," he said, motioning me in. "Just stand somewhere. I'll get the camera."

I kept myself as close to the front door as possible, my whole body tense. Plain unpainted rooms, rather messy but not exceptionally dirty…average looking, except for the porn taped all over the walls. 'That's going to be me,' I thought, and I let go of the cross, reaching down to assure myself that my knife was still there. It was, and I slipped it from its hiding place and quickly bent down to hide it close to the wall, behind an old painting that was propped there. It doesn't matter…it doesn't matter…

"Alright," Rick came back into the room. The camera he held in his hands was actually really nice, expensive and obviously well cared for. There was something else he held too, two strips of dark cloth. "I don't have any of those proper masks, so these'll have to do for you. Here," he stepped toward me and before I could voice a protest he took the first cloth and tied it around the upper half of my face, covering my eyes and most of my forehead. Oh…damn, I couldn't see him…but I could feel him, and the next piece of cloth went over my mouth and chin. It didn't really restrict my ability to talk, and thankfully that wasn't his intention. "That good enough for you?"

I just nodded and swallowed, resting myself back against the wall. It had me panicky being unable to see, my only comfort the knife I had hidden. I took easy breaths, focusing my mind. For some reason the childish thought of "you can't see him, he can't see you" flashed through my mind, which I quickly shook off. After this, I was out of Winchester forever. I'd be on my way…just one last job…anything to win…

"Start stripping," he said. "Nice and slow, make it sexy."

I pulled off my jacket then reached for the base of my shirt, pulled it up and took it off, making my movements slow and sensuous. With those gone I trailed my hands over my chest on the way to my pants, the metal cross lying cold against my skin. No big deal. This was easy stuff. I could do this.

I unbuckled my belt, fumbling a little without actually being able to see it, and let it drop to the floor after I slid it out of the loops. The pants next. I undid the top button and slipped my hand down to touch myself softly before I lowered the zipper and slipped out of them. I couldn't see the knife, but I hoped it was still out of sight and if it wasn't that Rick simply wouldn't notice it.

I shivered slightly as I stood there, the cold air in the room giving me goosebumps. I could hear the camera clicking and Rick's footsteps, getting photos from different angles. "Come on," he said. "The rest of it. Everything off."

Okay. Take a deep breath, everything's fine. I couldn't really decide why I wanted to hesitate. Was it shyness? Anxiety? Anger? But I couldn't change my mind, I'd come this far… My body was alternating between feeling hot and sickeningly cold, and as I lowered my underwear I held my breath. The elastic restricted my legs a little as I pulled them down and caught slightly on my ankle. Rick chuckled, but he didn't approach me.

So there I stood, completely naked with only the rosary around my neck. That must have been disgustingly blasphemous of me, but I knew I'd feel worse if I took it off. It's the only thing I had left to tie me to my life, to all the things I'd gone through. It's the only thing that proved no matter how much I changed and no matter what I did, I was still me. So I left it on, even though doing so made me feel even more sinful.

"Okay, so what helps you work?" Rick asked. "Music? Is there anything you'd prefer?"

He was almost professional. In fact, with my eyes covered, I could pretend he was and things didn't feel so bad. This wasn't an old apartment, it was a nice studio. I calmed a little. "Music works," I said, as if I'd actually done this before. My voice was slightly muffled by the cloth over my mouth, but still understandable. "Whatever you have, I'm cool with it."

I heard a click and a song began to play. I didn't recognize it; I supposed it was some American rap song. Whatever it was, it was dirty. But the beat was distracting, something that I could let my mind grab hold of and concentrate on. So I let myself get into the music, and when Rick began calling out orders for me I did them with little thought.

"Alright get on the floor, tangle your hands in your hair a little…good, like that…keep it up…how about we get to see that ass a little more, huh?...Yeah, pose there, just like that…don't be afraid to have a little independence, do some of it yourself too."

And I did. I imagined my body, the way it looked and the way it felt, and I contorted it into all the positions I could. This was a show for me too, not just Rick and his camera. I liked the way I looked, and his encouragement gave me a thrill. I _did_ look good; in fact, I looked damn sexy I'm sure.

I could tell Rick was getting closer to me, still clicking away with that camera, and I briefly fumbled about until I found the knife, and kept it clasped in my hand. I didn't care if he got close, the bastard just better not try to touch me. I stood up, bent myself back a little, splayed my hands against the wall and whimpered softly, just so I could hear the sound. Damn, how could I get so turned on by this? I wasn't even able to watch myself, but all the movements of my body were sexy enough solely in my imagination. I knew Rick would be able to tell I was getting excited, but by that point I no longer cared.

As I turned myself with my chest to the wall instead, bending over slightly, I got a slap on the ass from Rick, which had me standing bolt upright in a matter of milliseconds. I knew I'd practically been asking for it with that little maneuver, and I also was pretty sure that sooner or later the man would try something. I made an irritated noise at him, my skin still stinging slightly. I wasn't worried though; I was confident that if it came down to it I could defend myself just fine. So where was the harm in taunting him? All he was seeing was what he couldn't have.

I couldn't quite keep track of the time, but I supposed it was probably about forty-five minutes he was snapping pictures, perhaps longer. One song went into the next, and with the blindfold on it was easy to completely lose myself in it. So when the camera finally stopped clicking and I heard him say, "Alright, that should do it," I was actually a bit surprised and had to reflect back to realize just how long it had been. I reached up and took the wraps off my head, shaking my mussed up hair out of my face and taking a seat down on the floor, reaching for my clothes.

"You did good," he said, smiling as he looked back through the pictures on his digital camera's screen. "Oooh, nice…yeah, these are good. I told you kid, you're better off doing this. You've got the body for it."

"Whatever," I said, but it wasn't with any particular disdain. I felt odd with it over, as if I'd been daydreaming and was suddenly jerked out of it. I pulled on my pants, ignoring his slightly disappointed look, and then my shirt. I left my rosary beneath it, not feeling as if I wanted to pull it out and have it visible. Yet I could still see it. As I leaned back against the wall my shirt clung to my chest and the outline of the cross stood out, like a permanent brand upon me. Stupid thing; I could almost imagine it nagging at me. "So, can you get me some water or something at least?"

"Sure," Rick put the camera strap around his neck, turning to head back toward the kitchen. Pft, as if I'd actually drink anything he gave me. I stood up and flicked open the knife as quietly as I could then moved up close behind him with nearly silent steps. Putting one hand on his arm to stop him, with the other hand I brought the open blade to his throat. He froze, and then stiffened.

"Don't worry, Rick," I said, my voice low. "This is just good business, remember? Good for both of us."

His tongue flickered out, wetting his dry lips nervously, and I smirked. This was the first time I'd actually held a knife to someone's skin, and all my senses were instantly tuned to what I was doing. Some primal, warrior's instinct kicking in. It was as if the blade was an extension of my hand, and I could sense the minute twitching in the muscles of his throat. I could even hear the oh-so-faint beat of his heart, at least I imagined I could. I even thought I could see his veins pulsing, but that may have just been my thrilled imagination running away with me as well.

"Time to uphold your end of the bargain," I said. "I did my part…in fact, I did more than my part. I did shit jobs for you all week; I earned every pound of my cheque if not more. _And _this on top of it? I'd say you really owe me, Rick. You'd better be ready to do me some favors now. So, first: do you have a gun here?"

He hesitated just a bit too long in answering. "Of course I don't. What would a need one for anyway? Come on, enough with the knife-"

"Shh," I cut his skin just a bit. "Don't lie to me. Just tell me where the gun is, and I won't kill you."

"Ha! You don't have the guts kid," he said, but they were nervous words. All he could do was hope that was true.

"Oh yeah? You want to try me? Give me an excuse. Go ahead. I'll kill you Rick, but I don't want to; that would be a waste. So just go along with me here. Tell me where the gun is, and we can move on with this." Something in me felt like I was bluffing. I didn't have the slightest idea if I'd actually kill the guy. All I knew was that my hand was steady as I held the knife to him, and I hadn't gotten queasy yet. I suppose those could be counted as positive signs, depending on which way you were looking at this. I just found myself thankful he wasn't especially tall.

"Well?" I pricked his skin a bit more, letting the tip of the knife dig in softly. The blood began to run down his neck.

"Agh…son of a bitch! It's in the bedroom…damn it…"

"Good. Walk there, slow, and keep your hands away from your pockets. No weird movements." He did as I said, still cussing me out as he did. The blood was beginning to dampen the collar of his shirt, and with it the hand that I'd moved there to keep a grip on him. It was warm, the same temperature as his body, and I flinched slightly as I felt it. I made a little noise of disgust as it trickled over my palm and we entered into the bedroom.

"Here," he said. "It's under the mattress."

"Alright. Go over to it, kneel down. Now," I repositioned the knife so that the tip was pressing straight against his throat. "One false move and it goes in, got it? Reach under there and bring it out. Your fingers better stay away from the trigger." He reached under, and my heart set up a somewhat quicker pace, the rising danger getting to me. He drew it out, a nice hand-sized .22 if I recognized it correctly. "Toss it on the mattress, put your hands behind your head and lock your fingers together. Don't move." Keeping the knife ready, I reached over him and snatched up the gun, flipping open the barrel. It was fully loaded, six shots. I shut it again and tossed down the knife. It sure was a really cool power rush to press the muzzle of that thing to the back of his head. I tapped it against him a little, relishing the way the gun fit so well in my hand, my finger curling so perfectly around the trigger.

"Fuck…they'll have you for murder kid…" he said, and I shook my head.

"I already said I don't want to kill you. _Business_, Rick. Just business. I have to take precautions, you know?" This was beginning to put me in mind of those old Godfather movies. Damn, I felt good. A little giddy, a little light-headed with nerves, but good. Don Mello enacts a business transaction with an unwilling associate with charismatic ease…

"Now, the money you owe me," I said. "I want it all, 108 pounds. Plus a bonus. You know I earned it. Add another hundred on there.

"You think I carry around that much cash?"

"I think," I pressed the gun harder against his head. "That you own a market Rick. You get customers pretty often. I _think _that you've got plenty of money in cash. So quit with the games and the lies, because they're not going to work. Just tell me where the money is."

I winced a little. I didn't like how that had sounded, as if I was robbing him or something. Of course I knew I wasn't, I was just getting what was mine. But unbidden thoughts began leaping to my mind, first and foremost, 'What would L think if he saw me?' I chewed at my lip a bit. But I wasn't _really _doing anything wrong. It was like I said, the gun and the knife had just been necessary precautions. The rosary's beads moved slightly across my skin as I shifted, and I resisted the urge to tear the thing off my neck in anger.

"_Thou shalt not steal…"_

I closed my eyes briefly. Stupid, stupid…it didn't matter. I wasn't stealing, and I'd done nothing wrong.

"So?" I said. "Let's see it Rick. Tell me where it is."

He jerked his head to the side, toward the drawer in the bedside table. "In there. There's an envelope with money inside, and that's all the cash I keep out of the bank."

"Keep still." I reached over him again, this time to slide open the drawer. I had to briefly rifle through the papers within it, until I found a very worn white envelope tucked away beneath everything else. I brought it out, and with one hand I looked through it. There was well over two hundred pounds within; closer to three hundred I guess, but I didn't have time to count it all out right then. "Alright, this'll do. You got a car?"

"Yeah-"

"Good. I need you to drive me down to the train station. Come on, on your feet."

He didn't ask any questions, just grumbled and swore at me as we walked out of the apartment. I told him to walk normal, hands at his sides, but not to try anything. "The gun is still aimed in your general direction," I said. We walked outside into the twilight, where Rick had his old white car parked at the roadside and we climbed in, me settling comfortably into the passenger side.

"You've got a lot of nerve kid," he said, his hands shaking as he jammed the keys in the ignition. "Doing this to me, after I gave you work."

"Oh cut the crap," I said, my voice bored. "Of course I have a lot of nerve; I wouldn't have stripped for you if I didn't. In fact, you're lucky I didn't delete all those pictures you took of me. You have to admit I earned my pay. I don't want to get cheated here, so don't take the gun personally. You have your wallet on you, right?"

"Yeah, in my pocket."

"Okay, let's go then. No weird stuff. Just straight there."

I guessed we had about a ten minute drive ahead of us, so I relaxed a bit, but held back my sigh of relief for later. Finally, I was on my way out of Winchester. Beginning to feel in a somewhat better mood, I reached under my shirt and pulled out the rosary, bringing the cross to my lips and kissing it gently. "Glorious prince of the heavenly hosts and victor over rebellious spirits," I said softly, "Be mindful of me who is so weak and sinful and yet so prone to pride and ambition. Lend me, I pray, thy powerful aid in every temptation and difficulty, and above all do not forsake me in my last struggle with the powers of evil. Amen." I leaned my head back, still keeping a close watch on Rick out of the corner of my eye. "Blessed Saint Michael. One who is like God." I held the cross carefully between my two palms, considering another prayer, and thinking of my mother's words so long ago…

"_Archangel Michael, a prince even among the angels and favored by Our Heavenly Father-"_

"Shit!" Rick slammed on the brakes suddenly, swerving the car, and I jerked forward in my seat.

"What the hell?" I snapped, fumbling to get the gun aimed at him again.

"Sorry! It was a cat…caught me off guard…damn, just put that thing away!" Rick said, eyeing me warily as I pointed the gun at him. It took several moments longer for my heart to begin to calm, and only then did I lower the gun and settle back in my seat.

"Agh…damn." Startled by the sudden halt my hands had clenched together, and the tips of the cross had dug into my skin. I looked at the wounds now, one bleeding puncture on each palm. Glancing up and out of the window as I felt the car slowing, I noticed we were pulling into the parking lot for the train station, and my bleeding hands quickly shifted to the back of my mind.

"Alright, now what?" said Rick. "You getting out or what, I've had enough of this."

"Well too bad," I said. "We're both going in there, and you're going to purchase a one-way ticket to London using your ID. When that's done then you can go, and you'll never have to bother with me again, I swear."

"They won't let you go in there holding a gun," he said, his eyes flickering from side to side, and I shook my head.

"I'll be keeping it under my jacket," I said. "But listen, just remember that I've got nothing left to lose. It's all or nothing for me now, got it? I won't have a problem shooting you."

He just nodded quickly, and together we stepped out of the car and walked into the station. Rick was jumpy, but he did well. He went straight up to the woman selling tickets and purchased a one-way to London, just as instructed. We got a few strange looks, but I didn't blame anyone; the two of us must have looked odd together. Nevertheless, with the ticket bought I had about forty-five minutes to sit and wait, and I wasn't going to risk letting Rick get away until then. I had him take a seat on a bench several yards from the tracks with me, and he shifted nervously as I fingered the gun under my jacket.

So…to London. I'd need another job…a better one…and ID…and preferably a place to live. And then, after that…to America?

I still couldn't be sure. But when the train arrived at last, coming in to a screeching halt in front of me, I didn't feel any anxiety about being undecided. I worked best on the fly anyway. It was with complete confidence that I got up from my seat, quickly tucked the gun beneath my pants and under my shirt, and gave Rick a salute before I walked away. I had to wonder if he'd try to report me, but he just got up from the bench and left the station as quickly as he possibly could, while I settled down for the ride with a little smile on my face. I'd left my knapsack in the alley where I'd been spending my nights, but I didn't care. There was nothing in it of value to me. I could simply buy new clothes.

Well then, Near, round one to me. I'm the first out of Winchester.

* * *

_Hehe, I had quite a lot of fun writing this chapter :) Go Mello! I got to write his "tough guy" scene at last._

_Chapter 5 is coming soon. Until then…have a cookie. Or cake. Whichever you prefer :)_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Author's Note: **__Oooh, this chapter x.x It was difficult, and to be honest I don't really like it. Here we begin getting to the parts where I was having to keep my mangas out on my desk for constant reference and I started feeling overwhelmed. The thing was, I still can't be sure just how much information about Kira L allowed to be released to the public, and of course one wouldn't know if he was keeping Wammy's House informed in a different way, giving them more information or something. I can't know when or how exactly Mello found out what he did about the Kira case. So I had to do a lot of guess work and it disturbs me that I may not have done it well. Also, I know reading about guess work and long details can be dreadfully boring, and I didn't want to bore anyone._

_Ack, forgive me. We have definitely reached one of the trickiest parts of the story for me, so bear with me. I did my best :)_

* * *

When she was seventeen years old, a simple Slovene girl named Sabina fell in love with a German, a twenty-five year old ex-soldier who was living in Venice at the time. It was Sabina's fairytale love story. He pampered her and lavished her with gifts, he took her on long holidays, and very thoroughly charmed her. One of their get-aways was to Tryavna, a town in central Bulgaria. While they were there the religious Sabina visited the St. Archangel Mihael Church and adored it. From that day, she decided her first baby boy would be named Mihael. However, her first baby came sooner than she expected. She was eighteen and a half, with a poor family, and her romantic German had yet to wed her. I can imagine it must have been exceedingly difficult for her; all my life I knew Sabina, my mother, as an emotionally delicate woman.

As for my father the German, Mr. Keehl, marriage and commitment were not his game. He loved to court and to chase, to capture the prise…but once captured it lost it's luster. I'm sure he would have been perfectly happy to leave my mother and never think of her again, had it not been for one unfortunate little mistake: me. Pressure from his own family and hers, for the sake of "honor", at last forced the marriage. No sooner had they said their vows than he was gone, and Sabina was left to give birth without a husband at her side.

Her first baby, a boy, named Mihael.

"_One who is like God, the good Angel of Death, and patron of the warrior…"_

…

The ride to London was relatively short. I sat there just long enough to order a cup of coffee and slowly sip away at it until it was about a third full, when suddenly I found the train to be pulling into the London station. It was no great distance, but it was something. At least I was on my way and making progress.

As I stepped off the train, the first thing in my mind was chocolate. Most would probably have been fretting over where they would stay or something of the like, but not me. What I wanted was chocolate, a nice big bar of it, something especially dark. So I went into the first grocery store I saw outside the station, all the while gazing about and taking in what sights I could. Winchester wasn't a small town, but it was nothing quite like London. This city was a being in itself, somehow entirely new even though it was not so very different. It was a new location for me, to be certain. I'd never been here before.

With the chocolate bar in hand, I asked the cashier where the nearest 24-hour coffee shop was, and she pointed me just a ways down the street, to a pretty nice little place. I ordered yet another cup of coffee there and gave a generous tip, hoping that with that they'd just leave me alone. I then settled myself in a far corner, taking a seat in a large cushioned chair. I glanced down at my watch (10:15pm) and then unwrapped my chocolate from its foil. I snapped off a corner then held it in my mouth, its bitterness overwhelming whatever was sweet about it. I grimaced slightly, but I'd known what I was getting into when I purchased 85 percent dark. I needed something to focus and calm me, not drown me in sugar. I didn't want to bother to start in on dwelling on the photos Rick still had of me. I felt sincerely that they didn't matter and I didn't give a damn if he got them posted up on billboards, but all the same the memory gave me a slightly uncomfortable feeling and I wanted to simply move on from it. It was little slivers of anxiety, brought on by that wretched cross hanging around my neck like a chain.

I fell asleep relatively easily. Lucky for me, those working the night shift didn't bother to disturb me.

…

The first thing I did the next morning after a quick meal was call up Wammy's. I hated to do it, and it ate away at me, but I had no choice. Fake IDs could be bought, but a national insurance number wasn't exactly so easy to make a forgery of and expect to get away with it. If I was to get a passport to America, or for that matter a good job, I would need both an ID and a number, and I was hoping Wammy's would at least have the latter.

"You have reached Wammy's House, how may I be of assistance?" Roger picked up the line, and for some ridiculous reason my mouth twitched a little with a smile. It was the simple familiarity of it that got to me.

"Hey Roger, it's Mello. Do you have any of my identification there at the House? An insurance number?"

"Ah…Mello? Oh for heaven's sake boy, what are you thinking? Gone for a week-"

"Roger!" my voice rose slightly, just to get his attention and shut him up. "Did you honestly expect any less from me? I said I was leaving; I meant it. If you expected me to come crawling back a few days later then you really don't know me at all. I told you I'm going to do this my way, and I'm doing just fine, thank you very much. But I need some ID."

Roger huffed and puffed for a bit longer, partially scolding me and otherwise just fussing over how I was getting along. I shook my head. So maybe the old man actually cared a bit. Besides, it was nice to hear a civilized voice.

"The House does keep the insurance numbers, identification, and birth certificates for all the residents therein safe until the day they depart," said Roger at last. "Mind you, these things are presented when they leave _properly_, after much planning, after they have been carefully set up with funds and an appropriate place to stay. Your manner of leaving was very far from proper Mello; it was foolish! You've gotten yourself into far too much trouble for a mere fifteen year old boy to handle alone. You're still a _child-_"

"But I'm too old for your scoldings Roger," I said. I settled myself more comfortably on the bench where I was sitting, under the awning of a library behind me. "Listen, if I can give you an address to send those things to, will you do it?"

"W-well…I suppose I shall…"

"Good. Give me a day or so; I'll call back. Oh, and don't tell anyone else there that I called." I didn't say good-bye, nor wait for him to. I simply hung up. Now I needed a damn address. It shouldn't be too hard; I didn't have to necessarily live somewhere to use a postbox.

I spent the next several hours in the library, on the computer there. I got information on passports and printed out local job listings, and I researched all I could on the mafia families in America, their Dons, and getting into the families. Maybe it was the fact that I was now carrying a gun on me and had actually held someone hostage with it; but the idea of the mafia was suddenly a much more exciting prospect. The glory, the cold cool mannerisms; they did what they had to in order to get what they wanted, yet it was all "business". I could well understand that way of thinking more than ever now.

And honestly, what teenage boy isn't going to be intrigued by a life in the dark underworld of mobsters, those cool old guys with their guns, women, and money? Luxuries, power, and status…it was everything I longed for. And it would bring me closer to surpassing Near and bringing down Kira, becoming someone L himself would have chosen.

Almost as an afterthought, I decided to look up the Kira case as well. I scrolled past useless forums and fansites, trying to find whatever I could that was at least half believable. It wasn't easy. I really should be focusing on this as well but at the same time there was so much else going on…but I couldn't let myself fall behind on the case. I couldn't lose sight of _this_ goal. It was the most important.

So I caught up on everything I could. I got a bit of paper and a pen and wrote down more minimal details while printing out articles that I thought could possibly be largely truth. As far as I could tell, the world was convinced that L was still alive and well (and this was how it was supposed to be), yet I had to wonder: did this mean Near, in just this past week, had already gone to Japan and taken over duties as L? But for all his intelligence, I knew Near wasn't exactly ready for that. He didn't have the information L did, and he couldn't authentically take his place that way. L had revealed very little on his discoveries to the media, and little more information had gotten to Wammy's. He had always been so secretive, just a faceless nameless entity, known only by the title "L". In some ways, L and I could have been one and the same. I could have taken his name and identity, his work…yet at the same time, while we could have been so alike, it turned out that I was very different.

It mattered little. There was no one on earth who could follow perfectly in L's footsteps. Not even Near could do that. Perhaps I would go about some things…or many things…differently than L would have. Perhaps that would disappoint him, but there was no other choice for me. I could only work with what I had available to me. If that meant selling my body, or joining the mafia, or lying, cheating, and stealing, I was willing to do it. I was willing to sacrifice everything for this.

"Sir?" I glanced up sharply from the computer at the voice, meeting the librarian's gaze. "Four hours is the daily limit for computer use. I'm afraid you'll have to sign off now."

…

I didn't know how long I would have to go without a job, so I was careful with my money. I did need clothes though, with the current ones I was wearing dirty and my other dirty ones still in my knapsack back in Winchester. There are a lot of really nice designer stores in London, and their appeal did get to me…I liked looking nice and knowing that I was wearing clothes that were of quality. It made me feel good to buy expensive things. It was a status symbol, something that me feel ridiculously luxurious. Not that I had ever really gotten any designer clothes in the past, but the temptation to buy a nice leather jacket or something of the like was strong now. But I couldn't spend my money that way. I had to make it last as long as possible, so the clothes I bought were the best I could find off thrift store shelves. On top of everything else, this last thing wasn't easy; it put me in mind again that I was no longer a child of Wammy's House, carefully provided for and backed up by a fortune of the old inventor's wealth. Here it was, the real world, and it was glaringly cold. Just _living _was so damn expensive.

Nevertheless, I got my clothes and a backpack I could keep my things in. Night had come again, so another 24 hour coffee shop became my haven, and unfortunately this one wasn't quite friendly enough to let me sleep there until morning. It was around one in the morning when one of the employees shook me awake and told me I couldn't be sleeping there.

"We aren't a hotel," he snapped. I collected my things, but gave him the finger as I walked out the door. The thought was going through my head that I could have just shot him dead. That gun at my waist had been feeling real warm against my skin, but I didn't dare take it out on the street to admire. It gave me a little tingling feeling in my stomach to feel it there, some kind of power rush I guess. Not to mention it was a little exciting, the danger of having a loaded gun held against my body like that.

…

I wasn't quite sure what to think of this. Teenagers are supposed to hormonal and all, that's normal. And in my situation, already so frustrated by the events that went on during the day, I needed _something _to relax me. Masturbation was doubtlessly very normal, as was fantasizing as I did it. But was it normal for me to imagine such weird things? It hadn't been like this before….I didn't think it had….had I always been excited by guns? That feeling of metal, hard and unyielding, chilling cold when I'd leave it sitting by itself for a bit, away from my body, or run it under the cold water in the sink. I'd always liked things clean; I couldn't stand that feeling of dirtiness that followed. Yet this time I was doing it sprawled on the floor of a gas station restroom, possibly one of the most filthy places I could have chosen. I'd had no where else to go after I'd left the coffee shop and I'd ended up here, bitter and angry yet unable to focus that anger on anyone but myself.

I felt so stupid! I'd been so pleased that I'd gotten out of Winchester, so proud to have accomplished that…yet really….it meant nothing! Had I gotten any closer to catching Kira? Surpassing Near? Or even simply being able to live comfortably on my own? No. I'd done none of it.

The cement floor was cold and slightly damp beneath me as I pulled my own hair harshly, letting the cold metal of the gun slide over my body. "You're so stupid Mihael," I said, and turned over slightly to press my forehead uncomfortably hard against the floor. "You're useless. Why aren't you good enough? You've never been good enough!"

I choked out a whimper. I was doing little more than punishing myself for my shortcomings, for my failures. The rosary beads clicked on the dirty floor as I squirmed.

"Why aren't you doing better?" Wretched questions I couldn't answer. "Why do you let situations like this occur?"

Something in me wanted to sob that I didn't mean to.

"You're never good enough for _anyone_!"

The gun pressed harder. I wouldn't pull the trigger, but it frightened me all the same. A bullet so close to me, ready to tear through my head and end my life.

"You're useless! You're failing!"

I'm trying though…

"You've always been failing!"

I've always done what I could…

"It's going to change!"

Yes. Yes, it'll change. I'll stop failing. I'm not useless. I'm good enough!

Good enough for porn photos and little else…

I ended it quickly and roughly, gasping softly through it. My grip on the gun relaxed and I lay there for several moments, just catching my breath. I wasn't going to fail. I wouldn't. I'd prove that I was good enough.

I got to my feet, my legs feeling weak, and washed up using the sink. The puncture wounds on my palms had come open and were bleeding again, tinting the water red, looking like a light wine as it swirled down the drain.

…

No doubt the most important thing for me to get done was to find a way to get my personal identification records posted to me from Wammy's. However, considering I wasn't exactly living anywhere and therefore didn't have a postbox did pose a problem. Therefore, I would simply have to "borrow" someone else's.

I decided an apartment's postbox would be best. I would have to spend a lot of my time around it in order to insure that I was there right when my things arrived, and therefore I would look suspicious if it was just average house I was hanging about in front of. But with a large apartment complex, with dozens of people all living in one place, it would be far easier for me to pass myself off as simply a resident. So I chose a place, an apartment complex that was relatively open to the public and where there was a sheltered place outdoors where the postboxes were. I could probably spend my night here; there were plenty of shadowed places and nooks where I could lay down comfortably. I chose one of the addresses, the first one on the top row, and immediately took out my cell phone. Roger answered on the third ring.

"Alright Roger, I'm ready for you to ship my things," I said, and gave him the address. "Post them in a manilla envelope, one that's brightly colored. Or…no…not only that. I need a unique pattern on. Draw stars on it or something; just make it stand out."

Roger huffed. "Mello, I can only guess that your activities as of late have probably not been legal. As the custodian of the House I have been assigned as your guardian and I do not feel that I should be allowing this. You are still a minor and as such under my authority and it is my responsibility to ensure that you stay out of trouble."

"Just send the damn things!" I said. "I don't have time to wait around, and you know that I won't come back to that house if my life depended on it. I'm _done _Roger. I'm old enough to take my life into my own hands." I uncomfortably chewed at the inside of my cheek as I said that. Maybe I was old enough to take control of my own life, but so far I'd done a pretty good job of fucking it up. I sighed heavily. "Look, please. If you want to try to keep me safe, then help me out here. Just send my identification records, alright? If I don't have them, I won't be able to get a good job. Unless you _want _me working someplace trashy."

He paused a moment. "Mello…has something happened? Did someone…" He left the question unfinished, and I took a deep breath to calm myself.

"No. No, I'm fine. I can take care of myself. Please just send them, as soon as you possibly can. Today?"

There was uncertainty in his voice as he answered. "A-alright. It will be posted today. But Mello, you do have _choices_. If you'd simply stop being so prideful and come back, you would be much better off."

I smirked, but ignored him. I'd already given my answer about returning to Wammy's. "Is Near still there?" I asked. "He's begun investigating the Kira case hasn't he?

"I'm afraid I can no longer comment on Near's whereabouts nor actions," said Roger. "That is strictly confidential for his safety."

My face darkened. "Fine. Get them mailed. And tell Near he's falling behind. I already know how Kira kills."

I clicked the cell phone shut, gripping it hard enough for my knuckles to turn white. Damn Near. The fact that Roger was no longer going to speak of him meant he was well into his new role in L's place, and he was going to be protected more carefully than ever now. Lying about knowing how Kira kills…I felt stupid for saying it then. But I couldn't think well when Near was concerned; he made me get angry so easily.

Still, it couldn't be long before I discovered Kira's method. I would have to wait at least a day before my things from Roger arrived, and I could spend that time studying. For the rest of that day I was in the library once more, surrounded by my pages of scribbled notes as I browsed across the web.

So Kira needs a name and face to kill. That was the rumors, that was what seemed to work. At least, that was true for the "first Kira" apparently. As for the "second", all that one needed was a face?

Did all Kira have to do was think about it? Could he look at a person who's name he knew and simply _will _them to die? That would mean his powers were supernatural, not something scientific. But why would he need to know their name then? What was the significance of a name to Kira?

I backtracked in my research, back to when the Kira killings supposedly first started. That first heart attack, the man holding prisoners hostage in a school. That was supposed to have been when it started. After that…the hundreds of prisoners killed. But there had to be something beneath all this. Other deaths, overlooked as "normal".

There was an article on an American news site: 12 FBI agents killed by heart attacks. They had been working in Japan, according to the article. Undoubtedly Kira's work…but why? Kira said he wanted justice against evil. What had the FBI agents done? They had probably gone there to investigate him. But why would Kira blame them for that? He was quickly becoming one of the most powerful people on earth. Why would he feel threatened by 12 agents?

If they had been investigating him…it would have been to find out who he is and how he is able to kill…so if that threatened him…that had to mean…

That there _was _a way it could proven that he was guilty. There was visible evidence that he was the one killing people. So that ruled out him being able to kill just by thinking it. He had to physically do something, something that would remain to be discovered and seen….

But what? What was it?

…

Roger luckily did as he told me he would. The very next day, as I was sitting in the apartment complex's postboxes, the postman came up to deliver and in the box he carried I spotted a large manilla envelope with an array of colors scribbled hurriedly across it. The man smiled to me as he came up. "Waiting for the post are you lad?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Yes. I'm expecting something. Do you have anything for this address here?" I pointed up to the postbox I had selected.

The man sifted through his box of letters, then drew out several of them along with the manilla envelope. "There you are."

"Ah, thank you," I said, eagerly taking the things. For the sake of looks, I hurriedly made my up the staircase behind me which led to the first floor of apartments, and there I abandoned the other envelopes, keeping only the one intended for me. After a brief wait, during which the postman left, I made my way back downstairs and collected my backpack before leaving, trying to find somewhere I could have some calm and privacy.

Hyde Park was where I ended up. The grounds there rather reminded me of the parts of Wammy's I had always liked most, the open lawns and the trees, places where grades and school books didn't have a place. It was relaxing for me, so I found a secluded place there before I opened the envelope.

My national security card, a birth certificate, a driver's license, and a white card with nothing more than some numbers written upon it slid out into my hands, as well as a handwritten note. I looked over the security card and birth certificate only briefly before tucking them safely away again, but I kept the driver's license in my hands. I knew how to drive perfectly fine, but I'd never tested for a license. But what was especially unusual about this little card was the name upon it: Mello Jameson. My residence, according to it, was Wammy's House. I read the note, scrawled in Roger's handwriting.

_**Mello,**_

_**I have enclosed your official records, your original birth certificate and security card. These things are the only proof of your true identity outside your own mind; I doubt I need to tell you to guard them carefully and keep them completely secret. I understand that in order to obtain a job you will probably need your security number. It has been insured as best it can be on such short notice that those investigating you using that number will be unable to find your true name and will find that number leads them only to "Mello Jameson". However, there may still be traces of your true identity associated with that card. We may have missed some records, since, as I said, this had to be done on relatively short notice and in a small amount of time. Be cautious of who you give this information to.**_

_**Needless to say, we were not prepared for you to take this course of action by striking out on your own, therefore we cannot provide you with the most thorough protection. It is unfortunate, but that is what comes as a consequence of your stubborn will. You may feel like an adult for doing this Mello, but let me assure you, you are acting with completely childish naivete. **_

_**Nevertheless, I have also enclosed a driver's license for your alias. I hate to have done it and feed into your foolish actions, but you will notice your date of birth upon the card has been set back several years, therefore giving you the false age of adulthood. Do not use that foolishly Mello. Also, the numbers upon the white card are for a bank account that was started for you when you first came to Wammy's. You will find the money therein shall allow to live more comfortably for a while. It is also registered under the name "Mello Jameson". Again, I beg you Mello, don't be foolish with it.**_

_**I would gladly remove all resources from you if I thought it would do any good in bringing you back, but it seems we are already quite clear on how you feel about returning. These things I've given you are merely to provide you what safety I can now that you've left. If this is truly your choice then so be it.**_

_**Sincerely,**_

_**Roger Ruvie**_

_**P.S**_

_**Temporary pleasures will be useless to you Mello. However much you may feel like a man you are still merely a boy, and though it may prick your pride to acknowledge it you must accept that there are plenty of people who would gladly take advantage of you. **_

_**I will be perfectly blunt. I don't want to find the story of your rape and murder in the paper one of these mornings. I wouldn't put it past you to get yourself into such a situation. As it is I hardly believe your lying answer during my phone call when you said that nothing has happened. It's alright to ask for help when you need it.**_

I finished the letter and crumpled it in my palm. Roger was wrong; I'd told the truth. _Nothing _had happened to me. No one had touched me or hurt me, nor would I let that happen. I wasn't weak, and I wasn't about to play the victim. And now, with these things, I really could make my way in the world.

…

The next few days were spent job hunting. I applied wherever I could and had high hopes for many of them; I would have plenty of places to choose from. Beyond that I checked out this bank account of mine, and found it to indeed have a good amount of money in it. It would keep me well provided for, and with my new ID and money I was able to get myself a simple hotel room where I spent my nights. I cannot even begin to say how wonderful it was to have a shower and bathtub again. My first night there I spent nearly an hour in that tub, enjoying the water like a fish that had been left to suffer on dry land for ages. I sat there until I was in danger of falling asleep right where I was, and to have a soft mattress, pillows, sheets, and blankets to lose myself in afterwards was like pure heaven.

It felt very much like the end of my purgatory.

So as I waited to hear back from the many places at which I'd applied, I threw myself into researching Kira, while keeping up with the mafia activity in America as best I could. I was constantly busy; there was never a moment during which I had nothing to do. But my investigations on Kira were at a near standstill.

It was very much as if this case was a shattered vase. I'd collected all the outside pieces, those that were obviously needed. Yet I had nothing to glue them together with and certainly nothing to put in the vase when it repaired. In other words, none of the tidbits of the case were fitting together, and even if I did manage to put them together, there was no evidence to fill in the empty spaces.

The problem was, I was no where near Kira. L had had much information that he never revealed to anyone, and I had a feeling that much of that information was concerning whoever it was who had taken over L's place _before _Near. I couldn't deny it now; Near wasn't the one who was keeping the investigation going in Japan. That was someone else, and whoever they were they had managed to get close to L, which was an enormous feat in itself. But not only had they gotten close to him; they'd been told that he _was _L. I didn't doubt that many of these mysteries could be cleared up if only I had access to more information, but I didn't have that authority.

…

It was about a week after I'd arrived in London. My cell phone, sitting on my bedside table, began to ring. I was sitting upon the bed, tapping my pencil irritably on my leg as I wrote out what I knew on Kira again and again, hoping for a breakthrough. I glanced at the ringing phone irritably, but picked it up. Who would be calling me? Not many people knew this number…

"Hello?" my voice didn't exactly sound friendly.

"Hello Mello. It's been a while. I believe we have some things to discuss."

My eyes widened, my heart feeling as if it had stopped dead in my chest. "Near?"

* * *

_Oh, I know there was something I wanted to explain here. Sigh. And now I've forgotten what it is. Pardon me, I'm feeling tired this morning and am not at my best. I hope the chapter was not found to be too bad, and chapter 6 will be coming soon :) It gets better once I'm out of this rut of filler details._

_EDIT: Yes! My Matt helped me remember what I wanted to explain :D The St. Archangel Mihael Church in Tryavna is a real place (just look up "Tryavna" on Wikipedia). I was so ecstatic when I saw the name of that church, I just had to include it in the story. So yes, that's it :)_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Author's Note: **__For the sake of fully getting what I was going for in the beginning of this chapter, I'd really recommend reading Akane's essay on Mello and Near having met in secret behind-the-scenes, their whole exchanges of information, and relationship in general. I know none of it is canon, I just find the idea intriguing. If you haven't heard of Akane, she is an online doujinshi game artist who writes DN essays and in that way introduced the idea of Mello and Near's behind-the-scenes meetings to me :)_

_Her essays (even if you don't like MelloxNear, they're interesting regardless): cursedmoons. com / fan / index. htm _

_Here's chapter 6 :D_

* * *

Never in my life had I met anyone quite like Near. Going to live fin Wammy's House and finding one such as him there had been a terribly rude awakening for me. I was used to be a genius among those who were of average intelligence and below. To suddenly be thrust into a world where _everyone _was painfully brilliant was jarring. With my heart still bitter and aching from the sudden loss of the only family I truly had, I found it _insulting _that Near was better than me no matter how hard I tried. An entirely childish thing to feel, certainly, but I felt it.

2nd place still wasn't the best. Anything less than the best just wasn't good enough. I didn't ever want to be "not good enough" again. I hadn't been enough to keep my mother from killing herself, and I suppose I felt that if maybe I could make myself good enough for L that it would somehow make up for my failure.

It wasn't about becoming L. I could care less about "justice" and solving crimes. It was to be _chosen _that I wanted, to have someone finally acknowledge that I was good enough for something great, that I'd worked hard enough for it. To be selected above everyone else as the best there was for the job.

But you already know that didn't happen.

Near's very existence insulted me. It was like a slap in the face. Whether he acknowledged or ignored me, there was always the fact that he was in my way looming over us, bearing down on me, a weight on my mind that I couldn't escape. It made me altogether both sick and angry; it was impossible for me to tolerate him. He was so quiet, so maddeningly calm while all I was feeling was raw emotion. He was like a cold unbendable dagger being driven into my tender being. He was a boundary, something immovable and uncaring. It was like kicking a rock to have anything to do with him; he certainly wasn't going to react, and I'd only hurt my own foot.

I hated him, and I certainly didn't want him calling my phone.

But as I took a deep breath upon hearing his voice, forcing myself not to hang up, I realized I'd asked for this. The lie I'd told to Roger, about knowing how Kira kills; of course Near was going to call me. It was his duty to find out all he could…and this was also an opportunity for me to get information as well.

"Yes, it's me," was Near's dull answer to me stupidly saying his name. "You sound rather surprised but I did tell you I would call."

"Don't treat me like I'm stupid!" I snapped, the words springing out of my mouth before I could stop them. Damn; as if I _needed _to show signs of my own insecurity. I closed my eyes briefly, telling myself to calm down. "What do you want?"

"I'm sure you know Mello," he said. I could picture him just perfectly, sitting in that odd way, probably twirling a bit of his hair. He was only thirteen and already he'd assumed L's place… "Roger informed me that you told him you know how Kira kills. I doubt you have access to the information required to uncover that. However, if you truly do know, would you be interested in trading that information?"

"Why should I be?" I said. Damn him, he was just calling my bluff. He _knew _I didn't know, I could tell. But then why call? What did he want? Near wasn't one to waste his time on useless taunting. "Don't you already know Near? I thought you'd be quicker than this."

I heard him sigh. "Mello, I asked you a question first," he said, sounding very childish. "You responded only with questions in return that there is no point in me answering. May I have a significant response or is this a pointless call? I am interested in a fair trade Mello. Something that can benefit both of us."

I frowned. I had to continue to assume he knew I was lying…what then was his game? He couldn't possibly expect me to know _any _information that he hadn't already been able to find out. What did he want with me? How could speak of a "fair trade" when I had nothing to give.

"You are very silent Mello," he said.

"Ah…you…you don't know how Kira kills?" I said, trying to buy myself time to figure this out.

"No. And nor do you; it is quite obvious. I'm sure we can both agree that there is a great chance I will be the first to find out however. I'm sure we also agree that when this information _is _found out, you will be the first to take significant action."

"I…suppose we can agree on that."

"Indeed. I will be the one who discovers it, but you shall be the one who reaps it. Does this sound acceptable? Of course I can not give you my current location. But I will be keeping my cell phone Mello."

I smirked. It was little more than another game. "Alright Near."

"I'm afraid I can't share any information with you."

"Nor can I let you in on any information I discover."

"Unfortunate."

"For you, but as for myself I shall be perfectly fine working alone."

He made a little sound; perhaps it was a chuckle. "I don't doubt that you will. I suppose that is all then. I will look foreward to…trading…with you."

"Likewise."

He was silent a moment, then said, "I believe you've begun to grow up Mello."

I shook my head. "And I believe you haven't begun at all, and that you never will."

"Mm. Oh, and don't worry about your picture. I've kept it safe. Good-bye then."

…

I'm sure any normal person would be thoroughly confused by that little exchange. But I can assure you, in our own way, a valuable bargain was made. Near and I were both clear on the fact that we wouldn't work together. But neither of us were stupid; even me, with all my sensitive pride, knew that Near surpassed me in some things. I hated him for it, to be certain. But at the same time, Near was aware that my mind worked differently than his so I was therefore capable of taking different actions, or in some cases, taking action at all. Near was not a "do-er" he was a "thinker", while I often skipped in-depth thought and simply acted in the most outrageous way possible.

I think Near and I were on the same page in assuming that Kira's method of killing involved an item of some kind. What Near had told me was that he was most likely going to be the one to figure out what that item was first, but that I was almost definitely going to be the first to go out and do something about it, to _take _it, and in that way find undeniable proof of how it worked.

However, as we were not working together, Near could not openly give me his information, and he knew I certainly wouldn't want to do the same for him. Therefore, by telling me he was going to keep the cell phone he'd called with, he'd given me an opening to track that phone and keep an eye on his location by doing so. Of course I couldn't easily do so now, but later. I was happy to find that Near at least thought I was going places, which I was. What he expected me to do was in some way steal his information. That's right: he was offering me his discovers, but only if I managed to steal them. And when I used his discoveries for my own benefit, he trusted that in some way I would repay him.

It was all just part of our game.

…

Though several of the places at which I had applied wished to hire me, I selected to work at only one of them. I had the morning shift in a motorcycle store, making sure the bikes stayed clean and showing customers around. It paid pretty good and I was relatively happy there; it was pretty much a job I could relax doing. I didn't exactly know a bunch about bikes but I did like them and I learned quick.

Other than that, I kept an eye on mafia related stories from America, which had to be my focus of research for now. I wanted to be able to have a deeper plan once I got there than simply "join the mafia", which altogether sounded like a naïve child's dream and to anyone else would seem too terribly far-fetched to even try…but I'd already decided that I _would _do that, one way or another. But I needed to know ahead of time what family I wanted to try for so I could know what state to fly into. None of them seemed very promising in the way of giving me a chance, but I was leaning towards a New York family. That is until I saw a new headline, from Las Vegas.

**Dwight Gordon**** has all charges dropped in mafia-related drug case.**

Now "Gordon" wasn't an Italian surname, and judging by the man's picture there he certainly didn't _look _Italian either. What was it then? The Mexican Mafia? I had wanted to avoid them specifically because they probably wouldn't have the class I needed, being of a more brutal sort and less inclined to get what I needed done handled in a business-like manner. But still, the article intrigued me…

This Dwight Gordon fellow was also known as Rod Ross in the organized crime world. He wasn't once referred to as "Don", and supposedly on the streets he was simply called "The Boss", which strengthened my resolve that this wasn't the Italian mafia. Still, the man was "open about running the dominant organized crime ring in Las Vegas". He had authority in several large casinos, and from that I easily determined that he had the cash to pay off cops and judges while still living well himself. Curious, I did more research on him, looking him up to see if I could find the names of any of his associates. I did, as well as their pictures, and was surprised to find no consistency among their race. These were men from all different backgrounds; I could make no sense of it. Was he _really _a mafia leader or was that simply the term journalists had tacked onto it?

But…Gordon…or Rod Ross…had power and authority. That, paired with the fact that he didn't seem to have a bias against different races joining him instantly made his the foremost family in my mind. The Boss Rod Ross in Las Vegas…he seemed to be my best chance.

…

Not much happened for me in the next several months. I worked every day, and though my pay was fine I got impatient and ended up working a second job as well. Paying for a hotel every night was too expensive to keep up, but luckily my boss in the motorcycle shop was nice enough to offer me the flat above the shop. There wasn't any furniture, but there was running water and an air mattress, under which I kept my gun. It wasn't clean sheets and little carefully wrapped bars of soap, but it was something and it saved me money.

It wasn't long before I had enough money to travel comfortably to America, but I didn't attempt to get a passport just yet. I didn't just want to go there and have close to nothing again. I also wanted to have enough money to get myself an apartment, and I wanted to have a job waiting for me as well. I had an eye on the casinos that Ross owned; working at one of them would automatically put me closer to him. So I called them up and found out what they had available, laying out my plans as the months went by.

…

I didn't really like my second job. I'd taken it because I needed it, but for no other reason. It was in some big department store, and they absolutely forbid me to eat chocolate inside. I had to eat it _outside_, on my breaks, as if I was a smoker or something. My prissy boss Victor didn't want me getting chocolate stains on the shirts. I guess it was sort of understandable…they were pretty damn expensive shirts…but when I needed chocolate, I needed it. Others simply don't get that concept, and I end up feeling like nailing it into their heads. I kept calm as best I could, sneaking chocolate on the job like it was a crime, but I hated it.

Some days it was worse than others for me. My mood went up and down like crazy, it really just wasn't fair. I maintained and kept cool, but sometimes I was just prone to snap. I didn't want to take crap at a time like that, and my boss should have known better. Victor was just such a prick, thinking he could treat me the way he did. What the hell was it with crappy employers? Why do so many people who get a position of power have to be jerks?

It made it worse that I had this second job _after _the first one, near the end of the day, when I was already feeling worn out. I didn't need someone nagging at me on top of it. It was his own fault…

Victor caught me with chocolate behind the register. He'd been in the back room and there hadn't been any customers so I'd just taken a seat on the floor and nibbled away at it. I wasn't a _child_, it wasn't like I was getting it all over the floor or my hands. But he came upon me awfully quietly, and I didn't have time to put it away.

"What _have _I told you, _Mr. Jameson_?!" his wretched voice screeched at me, startling me so much in the quiet store that I flinched. The fact that he'd given me a little burst of adrenaline didn't help my mood; I was the kind of person who'd give whoever was stupid enough to jump out at me from behind a door a good punch in the face. I absolutely hated being startled.

"We have policies here!" he said, frowning down at me from the other side of the register. I wrapped the chocolate back up in its foil.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, getting to my feet. "I just had a little. No big deal. It didn't get anywhere. Besides, I'm not anywhere near the merchandise."

"Excuse me? _What_?" He pointed to the boxes of unpacked shirts behind me. "What do those look like to you? Hmm?" He marched over to them, picking up one of the individually plastic-wrapped shirts. "This looks like merchandise to me, what does it look like to _you_?"

"Like a shirt wrapped in plastic that was in a box, at least a foot away from where I was eating a little bit of a chocolate bar," I said, forcing myself to not snap. I didn't want to lose this job. As much as I hated it, it wouldn't look good on my record to get fired. "I didn't get it on anything, I never have, and I never will. Look, it's away now."

He smiled tensely. "Maybe you don't understand what kind of store you're working in. This is _high end fashion_, okay? Are you understanding? Is it getting through that pretty-boy head of yours?"

My body was getting tense. Damn it, don't treat me that way…

"These shirts? These go for about 150 pounds each, and that's straight from the company. If you get your stupid chocolate on them, I can't sell them. And can you figure out what that means? It means I'll lose money, and I swear it'll come out of your paycheque."

"You can't do that," I said, my fists gripping the counter behind me, my nails scratching softly at the wood underside.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it? Look, if you want to help yourself out, why don't you just give me a damn apology? Or are you going to keep being all high and mighty?" He reached and patted my face. "Well? Do I get an apology?"

"Don't touch me," I said, gritting my teeth. My hands clenched tight at my sides, my nails pressing hard into my palms.

"What was that?" he said, and he stroked his hand along my jawline. "Was that an apology?"

"Get your fucking hands off me!" So much for trying to stay calm. That went away so quick it surprised even me. It isn't like I made the decision to lose it. It just happened. I shoved him away so hard he stumbled and had to catch himself on the wall. A customer who had just entered the store quickly made an exit, and I mentally cursed. Damn, I hadn't wanted to do that! Stupid bastard. I couldn't just let him touch my face that way…

"Oh ho, you're a tough-guy now huh?" he said, withdrawing his cell phone from his pocket. "You want me to call the police on you? Assaulting your employer? You're out of line Mello. I can have you in a court case for this. You blatantly violated my store rules and you have the _nerve _to put your hands on me? You better bet you're in a load of trouble now."

I licked my lips nervously. I felt sick. Shit, if only I'd just controlled myself…I hadn't had to act that way. Damn him! I couldn't afford to get involved with the cops, I didn't have time for that. I needed things to go smoothly, I didn't want trouble. But he was already dialing in the number, his eyes constantly flickering to my face. He was looking for a reaction; he _wanted _to see me afraid, the freak. I wasn't going to apologize to him, I didn't owe him anything…

"What?" he said, his finger on the "talk" button. "You think I won't do it?"

I hated feeling trapped this way! What other choice did I have? Of course I didn't doubt he would really call. I'd probably get arrested since I'd been the only aggressor. Damn, I couldn't have this happen!

"Don't," I took a step forward automatically, but instantly realized that was a bad idea as he tensed, as if daring me to get closer. I backed away again. "I didn't mean to do that. Come on, I've had a bad day-"

"Don't give me your crap excuses," he said. "Apology. Now."

I'm not one who says sorry. I just _don't_. But it was between that or getting the cops called…I knew I could hold my ground if it meant my death, but…

"Sorry," the word grated out, like nails on a chalkboard.

"You better be more sincere than that."

I could walk out. I could walk out right now. But that wouldn't stop him from calling. With my luck the cops would be able to find me at my flat, and I knew he'd exaggerate the story enough that they wouldn't hesitate to track me down. Even if it didn't get me a sentence, I'd lose my job here and probably at the motorcycle store. Damn, I didn't need this.

"I'm sorry," I said, and this time I tried to make it sound truthful. "I shouldn't have done it. I was…" Just say it. It's only words, what does it matter? "I was out of line."

Shit, it _did_matter. This was killing me. I wasn't going to be treated like a little child! I wasn't going to have him talking down to me. I was beginning to tremble all over, pure anger rising to the surface and my struggles to suppress it resulting in my shaking. I felt sick enough to vomit.

"Good boy," he said, and a little smirk tweaked at his mouth. I'd fucking kill him… "Anything else? You still look like you're ready to be violent to me."

I practically groaned. Just stick in the knife and twist it why don't you? I hated this. I hated it so much it made me want to scream. But I kept all my emotions down, feeling as if I was trying to force a brick into a tiny bottle. I was doing everything I knew that I could, regulating my breathing, trying to distract my mind…but the most important thing, removing myself from the situation that was bothering me, I couldn't do here. I just had to suffer through it, to take it.

I sunk to my knees. It was so extreme, but at that point I didn't know what else I could do. I needed to remove Victor from my sight, I needed to put myself in a position where I couldn't easily make another mistake. I bowed my head. "I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I swear. Please…forgive me."

I heard him chuckle. "There now. That feels better, doesn't it? I'd like to stay on good terms with you Mello, but you need to watch your temper."

No. _He _needed to watch my temper. He needed to watch it shoot him point blank in the head and dump his body in the Thames. I wanted to. I wanted to so bad. And I could. I knew what apartment building he lived in, I'd seen him walk home not far from this store. I could find what room he was in…I could bring the gun…and I could…

I _would_…

I would kill him.

"You're right," I said. "I do need to watch my temper. I need to control it better. I hardly realized what I was doing. It was stupid of me."

My words now seemed to be almost gloating. Useless, useless words. They won't help you Victor. You're _dead_. I'm ending it. I will.

"It's the end of your shift anyway," he said. "When you come in tomorrow, you better not have so much as a chocolate chip with you, or you'll be fired on the spot. And we both know you don't want that, don't we?"

"Yes. I can't lose this job. I need it so bad…" I sounded pathetic, and I didn't care if he thought I was. He'd be dead by tonight.

…

I'd never felt so tense as I walked out of that place. It was an odd feeling, like a burst of adrenaline, like I'd just drank a nice glass of red wine. I'd kill him. I could kill Victor, and I would. I wouldn't have to go to work tomorrow because he'd be dead and burning in Hell like he deserved, the bastard.

"Almighty and Eternal God, give me, I beseech You, the great gift of inward peace…"

They would arrest me as a murderer. Someone would suspect that it was me, someone…another employee…had to have seen us arguing. Victor would turn up dead and they'd know it was me…

"Command the winds and storms of my unruly passions…"

He deserved to die. It would feel so good to hold that gun and aim it straight at his head. It would feel so good to never have to see his face again. I wanted him gone.

"Subdue, by Your grace, my proneness to love created things too much. Give me a love of suffering for Your sake. Make me forbearing and kind to others, that I may avoid quarrels and contentions…"

The rosary's cross twirled round and round in my fingers. My breathing felt harsh. I could hardly think, I didn't know where I was going, or what I would do. I just knew what I wanted, what I lusted after so desperately.

His blood on my hands…I wanted to murder him.

"And teach me constantly to seek after and to acquire that perfect resignation to Your Holy Will which alone brings interior peace."

"Amen."

…

I'm not sure at what point I fully realized where I was. But I was sitting on a wood pew in Saint Paul's Cathedral, with my head tipped back, staring up at the domed ceiling as my fingers moved over the cross in my hands. I felt exhausted. I couldn't even bring myself to decide on what I was feeling anymore.

I wasn't surprised by this. I'd gone through enough fits of temper in my life to know what it was like when one finally ended and I was left with nothing but fear and regrets. For so many years I'd tried so hard to bring myself to a point where I wouldn't get like this anymore, where I wouldn't let my emotions rule me so easily.

It was entirely useless.

Of course I'd come to a church. Habit, again. It was a comfort to me and a memory. My mother used to tell me I should pray when I was angry instead of getting violent and hitting people or breaking things. I remember when it would frighten me so much when I was younger, to get so angry and be unable to control what I did. She would hold me as I sobbed and we'd often go to the church together, and she'd let me clutch her own rosary in my hands and whisper prayers until I felt at peace again.

That same rosary now hung around my neck, and it was as if my mother was still there. Still giving her gentle advice, still trying to calm me. But she was too far away for me to feel her arms anymore. She'd given up and all I had left was myself. That was even more frightening than the anger alone. The fact that there was no longer anyone there to calm it, to make sure I didn't truly hurt anyone…I no longer had any protection against myself, and that scared me more than ever. But I would no longer burst into tears; I couldn't do that, I was too old for it.

I was trying so hard to be grown-up, to act like an adult. That's what I needed to do, that was what this world required of me. I had to be brave and mature, and not let myself lose my mind over humiliation and then exhaust and terrify myself. I couldn't do that. If I was really going to carry through with my plans, go to America and join Rod Ross's family, I had to be prepared to suffer and not let my emotions take over. I had to be able to act without caring.

It looked nearly impossible. I always cared. _Everything _affected me, everything I felt so deeply that things that would have been like mere needle pricks to others were daggers in me.

I couldn't go back to that shop. I had enough money, but I'd wanted longer to plan, I'd wanted a home waiting in Las Vegas for me…

It didn't matter anymore. I'd run from Wammy's to escape my anger there. I'd run from Winchester to escape all the memories that made me feel things I didn't want to. And now, I would run from London as well. I would leave behind this entire country and everything in it that I'd ever felt, and I would never _ever _let myself be controlled by my own emotions again. I was locking them away, I would ignore them, I would never feel them again.

L…would you be ashamed of me?

…

My holy angel guardian, Saint Archangel Michael, ask the Lord to bless the journey which I undertake, that it may profit the health of my soul and body; that I may reach its end, but never return to this place, for I have no family to return to find in good health. Do thou guard, guide and preserve me. Amen.

* * *

_The above prayer is supposed to go, "My holy __Angel__ Guardian, ask the __Lord__ to bless the journey which I undertake, that it may profit the health of my __soul__ and body; that I may reach its end, and that, returning safe and sound, I may find my __family__ in __good__health. Do thou guard, guide and preserve us. Amen." I simply changed it a bit to suit Mello better :)_


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's Note: **__Okay, here we go peeps, Mello has hit Sin City and we all know how much fun that place can be :P Oh dear. So here it is, chapter 7!_

_(P.S. Be safe Matty! And have fun in Japan! Hopefully this chapter can help keep away boredom at the airport.)_

* * *

A month later, at sixteen years of age, I was to be found working in one of Las Vegas's most prestigious casinos, a place where the big rollers flocked to gamble away their millions on cards, drinks, and whores. Day in and day out the air was thick with smoke and alcohol was on everyone's breath. The performances put on here drew crowds of hundred and sold out fast. I had to hand it to Rod; he knew how to run a business.

I worked at the poker tables, dealing cards and such. Since my license stated I was still only nineteen I couldn't work at the bars, as here in America one couldn't drink until they were twenty-one. I didn't mind though. This job, like the one in the motorcycle shop back in London was one at which I could relax and enjoy myself. Life in America was so unique for me I remained fascinated by it for weeks after I arrived, and even when it began to be more normal I still found myself enthralled. The landscape here was so different, so huge and hot, with magnificent formations created from the very earth itself. Mind you, the heat _was_ rumored to be awful in summer, and though I had yet to experience that time of the year here I knew it was fast approaching and it made me rather bitter towards the necktie and long sleeved shirt I would still have to wear to work even when the temperature soared.

The prices for a simple apartment here in Las Vegas had unfortunately caught me off guard. In short they were outrageous and I had been entirely unprepared for them, but I worked fast to get myself a place. A man named Marcus was the manager of the casino, and he and I got along well. He respected his employees, even those of them who whored themselves out on stage. It was all good business to him, and I liked that. He was a man of his word and trustable, and by observing this about him I was able to learn more about Rod as well. By seeing who he put in a position of power, I knew The Boss himself was a pretty smart man. At any rate, it was Marcus who set me up with a place. We worked out a deal for him to put a good down payment on the apartment, and halve my paychecks to pay it back. In the mean time I would be saving up what money I got and by the time I had to make another payment I could do so quite comfortably. I knew Marcus couldn't possibly be doing that for every employee that walked in his door, but it turned out the truth was the casino was short on workers after an unfortunate "incident" meant some of them had to be let go.

"Mr. Ross likes to see pretty faces working the tables, if you'll pardon my expression," he said, his Mexican accent light but evident. "He wishes for his casinos to be places of relaxation where men and woman can come to be happy and escape all that is wrong with life. That is his philosophy for this business. It is a good one, si?"

I nodded. "It is indeed."

It didn't take me long to first get a glimpse of Rod. I had been going about my work as usual, and he walked right through the casino with two other men, dressed nicely in a suit jacket and what looked like a silk shirt, with fine gold chains hanging around his neck. I must've really been staring, because not only did I get some impatient words from the men I was supposed to be dealing to, but I got a look from Rod as well. He glanced over, casually, but upon finding me staring straight in his direction he held my gaze, and when he turned away at last it was with a little smirk.

There was no way I could simply approach him in the casino. I needed to find out where he and his family lived, and, if I could, some of the more shady places where he or his associates conducted their business. Not only that, but I'd need some kind of bargaining chip, or something I could offer him. It would certainly help if I actually knew how Kira killed, but that was something I couldn't figure out until I had to the authority and power to somehow spy on Near, or get someone close enough to him to find out what information he had so far. If I only knew Kira's murder weapon, then _that _would be my offering to Rod's family. "Let me in, and I can help you get Kira's power for yourself."

But as it was now, I didn't have that, so I would have to at least be able to show them that I was dead serious about what I was doing. I needed to be able to show them that I had some experience, and that I was at least knowledgeable of the family. And I had an idea floating about my head, of how I could do that…

I could kill the Don of the rival family here in Las Vegas.

…

With more money coming in, I was done with my old bargain clothes. I took to dressing nice, in leather, silk, and cotton. I had plenty of shopping options here in Vegas, and all of it was expensive, but worth it. On top of that, I bought myself a decent car and a motorcycle, a nice black one. When I'd go out for dinner at some nice restaurant, wearing a fedora with a red feather in it, a tie, and slick leather pants, I felt like I already was living a life of luxury. In all truth, I was.

But I wanted more.

I recognized the faces of many of the men who worked with Rod when they would come into the casino. Even on my days off I would be there. I would wait for them to arrive, then I'd keep my eye on them and follow them when they left. I kept a notebook full of the addresses they went to, along with pictures of them that I was able to get. It wasn't long before I found their main home, a ritzy high rise that Rod owned all of himself. But there was no way I could just walk in there. The doors were always kept locked, and I'd often see men hanging about outside it, watching the streets carefully. They were always on guard. I needed another way in. An outside source who had access directly to Rod and that building, but who was also accessible to me. If there was perhaps a drug dealer in the family, that would work perfectly.

There had to be a way I could find out these things more easily. The thing was people _did_ have information, but they weren't just going to hand it out to any random stranger. If I could just manage to easily get close to people, form a quick relationship that would get them trusting me enough to tell some of their secrets, then I'd be much better off. They had to have some trust in me that I wouldn't talk, but in return I had to have some trust in them that they wouldn't either. After all, I didn't want information on what I was doing to be passed around. So what kind of relationship would that need to be? What would I have to be to these people that would make them instantly close to me, but not so much that they'd ask unnecessary questions about my activities? What would I have to be to them that would make them not talk about me in public?

Well of course. A prostitute.

Ever since that day in London, when I'd taken shelter in Saint Peter's Cathedral, I had done well to keep myself uncaring. I could listen to derogatory comments and handle it calmly, I could respond evenly to criticism, and I could use well my intelligence when it came to responding to people. I no longer blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I felt perfectly in control and uncaring of what others thought of me, so when the idea came to me that as a prostitute I could gain so much easy information, I didn't reject it. I seriously considered it in fact. It sounded like a good plan to me, and why not? What did I have to lose?

What did I have to lose…maybe that wasn't the best thing to think of. It didn't really matter anyway.

But still, I wanted to have an idea at least of what it would be like first. I wasn't about to just sell myself on a street corner, thank you. But I knew many of the stage performers in this casino had a designated room in the hotel they could use if they happened to meet a member of the audience who wanted a more personal show. All pretty scummy of course but at least the environment was more controlled. It was more business like and less trashy somehow.

Still, if you gave some shit a nice garnish and put it on a silver plate it still would be what it was. Just the same as if you put a prostitute in expensive clothes and gave him some lights and music and called him a stripper or a pole dancer, he would still be exactly what he was. I hated that, but it was the truth. Still, in some back corner of my mind, being on stage and the center of attention appealed to me. After all, it wasn't like this casino was some hole-in-the-wall "Gentlemen's Club". This was a high class place and good money was paid here. Out of all the places for me to have such a job, this was probably the best one.

I arranged to have a meeting with one of the other men who performed here. This casino had a show for everyone, and that included men and women, mixing and matching in how they happened to go together. Though raised Catholic I cannot say I'd ever had any bias toward a specific sexual orientation. Of course I'd read that it was a sin, but such a thing was hardly foremost in my mind when my life was filled with the temptation to murder and join crime rings. I wasn't thinking about my sex life much, because having another to "help me out", as it could be put, didn't really interest me. I could get off on my own, thank you very much. I wasn't interested in falling in love and I didn't have time to get involved in sexual relationships. Unless of course, it was business. I always had time for business.

Still, with a job of offering myself to other men and women as a sex toy so close at hand, my little nagging doubts began to come to me. The rosary around my neck was such a curse, a collar tying me to the rules and regulations of a religion. I couldn't get rid of it; taking it off and throwing it away was like throwing out my past. It was like…it was like abandoning the memory of my mother. It was ignoring all her kind words to me, all the gentle lessons she'd taught me. When I was with her I'd been too young for her to really talk me about sex and the relationships that went with it, or what she believed to be right and wrong. Perhaps she had even felt that she didn't have the right to speak of such a thing to me, her illegitimate child born out of wedlock, my very existence a sin. So I had received no guidance from her on such matters, but over the years after her death as I learned about sex and on Sundays would go to mass with Roger and some of the other children, it was blasted very clearly at me what the church thought of things.

In short, I was damned. But I'd known that already.

It ate at me and worried me. It made me uncertain. But I had steeled myself to go on not caring, to do whatever it took to surpass Near and bring down Kira. It was not as if I could suddenly choose to devote myself to this religion. I wouldn't be able to bear it. I did not want to think far ahead to my death and what would come after.

Of course I knew it was wrong. My conscious pricked at me cruelly every time I thought of it. I would squirm a bit with guilt whenever I went in to watch the shows, observing the techniques of the performers. At least I thought it was guilt. I assumed at first that because I had masturbated plenty of times I wouldn't really be embarrassed by the sex act itself. Maybe I was wrong. My face would burn red as I sat there in my seat, even though what I saw was exciting enough to give me an erection. It went on being like that for me the first few times I watched. Why didn't I see _at least _one other person there who looked to be feeling the same? What was the difference? I wasn't squeamish, I just…

I just…maybe it was that…I had never done it before myself. Doing it alone is not nearly the same as having a partner with you. I found that an entirely stupid reason to be squirming in my seat, and luckily after several shows I began to get used to it.

As hypocritical as it was of me, I decided to attend mass on that particular Sunday on which I had arranged a meeting with one of the performers. I sat there in the very back row of pews not really listening because I wasn't all that interested, but still feeling as if I was getting pounded with a very personal scolding. Pastors in Sin City have plenty to rant about, and this one sure went off. I'm pretty sure that by the end of it I was quite hunched over in my seat with my face burning, as if I'd actually been caught doing something wrong.

At any rate, that wasn't going to stop me. Anxious as I was I pushed those feelings away and went into my scheduled meeting with absolute calm. I was fully prepared to ask any question I felt needed to be asked, and I had a notepad and pen ready. The man who I was meeting was called Angel, and he really _insisted _that was his real name. A porn star with a real name? Yeah right. But it was his job to be all sexy and exotic, so whatever. We met in one of the nice suites in the hotel, the one where he usually conducted his "business". That is, the "business" that goes on after his shows, when he's got millionaires following him around wanting his body. Knowing that, I felt just a tad awkward going in, but the atmosphere was nice. And I had to face it: Angel was good at his job. He made me feel comfortable real quick, and it took only about a minute for me to completely relax.

"You're Mello right?" he said, as he ushered me in. Maybe I'd expected him to be wearing drag…but he was dressed pretty normal. Nice, but masculine. Maybe I'd expected him to _sound_ gay…but that wasn't true of him either. He seemed decidedly average, albeit friendly and damn good looking.

"Yeah, that's me," I said, peering around the room as I stepped inside. "You must be Angel. Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, Mello," he seemed to test out my name as he said it. "Cute name. It suits you. Is there anything I can get for you? Vodka? Wine? I have some nice vintages here."

"Ah, wine is fine. Red, if you have it."

"Of course. And don't worry; I won't card as long as you won't tell."

As he poured to glasses of wine I took a seat in one of the large cushioned chairs there, settling myself down to relax with my notepad on my lap and pen in my hand. "Before we start," Angel said, as he handed me my glass. "I'd like to ask _you _some things. Is that okay?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, and took a small sip. Ahh, it had been so long since I'd had wine. Every once in a while Roger would let the older kids in Wammy's have a little shot glass of red wine with dinner, and I'd always liked it. It served well to relax me even more.

"First, I have to say that accent of yours is going to serve you really well," he said, holding his glass with careful finesse. "It makes you sound exotic. And you know, cute little English schoolboys are a rather delicious fetish but not always easy to come by in real life. Where are you from exactly?"

"London. But I was born in Slovenia."

"Ah, so that's what it is. I didn't think you sounded quite like a pure Brit. Have you ever done anything like this before? Any previous jobs?"

"Ahh…no. I haven't."

He nodded. "Well everyone has to start somewhere. Are you gay?"

His question caught me off guard. My initial response would have been no…but I'd never really thought it. I didn't spend my time looking for a sex partner, so I'd never figured it out. I _wanted _to say no. But when I thought about it, I realized that I could really feel attracted to anyone, regardless of gender. As sick and sinful as that supposedly was, I had to realize that it was true. My hand went up fiddling with the rosary's cross.

"I'll go for anyone," I said, and almost winced. He nodded again.

"Good, good. That's really good. Though it's a rarity to get women wanting you. The majority of people who come to the shows are going to be men. I did have some dominatrix chick pay to have me for a while…but that was just once. At any rate, I'd say you'll do well here. You're pretty, you don't seem shy…so, your turn. What did you want to ask?"

I got a little twinge of awkwardness, but stubbornly ignored it. "How much money do you make? And this room…do you have to rent it out yourself?"

"The money fluctuates," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "But you have to understand, I've gotten to the point where I'm well known. This casino pays good to keep me performing here. I get fifty percent of the ticket sales for the shows and ten percent of the drink sales that are made in the room during it. Any tips, any money that's thrown up on stage, I'm free to keep for myself. I get to have this room free of charge. The casino recognizes that the longer I keep a man here the more drinks he's going to buy, and the better a time I give him, the more likely it is that he'll keep coming back. I charge by the half hour for anyone who wants something private. Depending on what they want me to do it may be more than the average rate. Again, there may be tips. And of course, there are the occasional customers who like to bring gifts." He held up his hand, flashing the gold bands on his fingers. "I made less when I was first starting out, but it was still good money."

"Do you have some exact amounts?" I said.

He gave them to me, and I scribbled them down quickly and added them up. I tried my hardest to keep my mouth from dropping open. "Holy Jesus…how many shows do you do a day?"

"One on weekdays, two on weekends."

I could hardly believe it. That kind of money for so simple a job…

"What do you think?" he asked. "Is it…your style?"

"I think…I think this will work out well," I said. "The money is amazing. Is it true no photography or videotaping is allowed during the shows?"

"Yes," he said. "Nothing of the sort is allowed. The most someone may do is snap a shitty picture with a cell phone."

"Now, what about the customers? What kind of people are they?"

He shrugged. "Every kind, as long as they have 'rich' somewhere in their description. Some of them will be pigs and some of them won't. You'll get the common millionaire businessman, the drug dealers, and the mobsters too." I tried to look surprised at that, and he went on, "Oh yeah, didn't you know? This casino is owned by some big time mafia boss around here. You'll see him come through sometimes. He's the real big guy with the bling. You'll know him when you see him. But trust me, he ain't no Godfather."

"I didn't really expect to find the mafia around here," I said. "I thought you'd only find that in New York…I guess they're more common than I supposed. I don't really care though, the job sounds good. I just hope Marcus will give me a chance."

"Ah, I'll put in a good word for you," Angel waved his hand dismissively. "And don't bother to buy clothes for it, they have plenty here and they'll costume you up real nice for the shows. And remember not to try _too _hard; you'll look silly."

"I'll probably need plenty of advice," I said. In this case, I wasn't at all afraid to admit that I'd need some tips. If it would keep me from making a complete fool of myself, then I definitely welcomed it.

And Angel had plenty of advice to give.

…

I met with Marcus about it the next day. I walked into his office and took a seat, and he nodded as I came in, the air thick with smoke from his cigar. "What can I do for you?" he said.

"I'd like to change my job position," I said.

"What are you interested in?"

"I want to perform," I said. "On stage, in the shows."

He raised his eyebrows and leaned foreword in his seat, taking the cigar from his mouth. "A stripper?"

"Yes."

He leaned back again, and ran his fingers over his receding hair. "I didn't think you were the type…ahh, but if that is what you want." He shrugged. "Who am I to stop you? Angel spoke to me of this yesterday and advised me to give you a chance…I suppose you have no previous experience?"

"No," I said. "But I learn fast."

He nodded. "Mm. I'm sure you already know we require top quality performances here. It is very unusual for us to take on those who are doing it for the first time. Have you ever…" He paused a moment, and lowered his voice. "…had a lover?"

"Yeah," a complete lie, but I could easily imagine him saying no on the spot if he found out I was actually…actually a virgin.

Stupid word. I hate that word. I made me think of Mother Mary, and that's the _last _thing I want to be thinking of!

"Well, we'll try you out," he said. "Can you be ready for it tonight? We have a show going on that needs several background dancers, and one more couldn't hurt. It'll be relatively easy, a good warm-up for you. Can you do it?"

"Of course," I said. "What time do you need me?"

"Be here at 9. Make sure you get yourself a good dinner, and don't show up drunk."

I smirked. "I'm underage, remember?"

He smirked right back. "That means nothing."

…

If it had been awkward to take off my clothes for Rick all the way back in Winchester, this was even more so. Time and exposure hadn't made this any easier. I was feeling just as anxious as ever as I waited backstage. Every worst case scenario was running through my head, and I now understood why Marcus had bothered to tell me not to get drunk. A nice glass of red wine would have been so wonderful right then. My mouth felt dry, and my fingers were moving my cross around and around so quickly that they were beginning to ache.

"You'll have to take that off," Angel said, as he came over to me and handed me bottled water. "You look worried."

"I'm not worried," I said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "I'm perfectly fine." So many eyes would be staring at me, so much focus on me, so much attention. I wanted them to adore and desire me. I wanted them to think I was worth the kind of money they'd pay for Angel. Stupid, stupid wishes. Above all I needed information on the mafia so I could get in, that was the whole point in this. But if I was going to make a job of it for a while, I could at least allow myself hopes and goals. I wanted to be the best. I didn't want to look stupid or inexperienced, or like I didn't have the slightest clue what I was doing.

"It'll be fine," said Angel, not believing my pathetic attempt at sounding at ease. "It's simple stuff, really. Come on, you'd look great no matter what you do. They're going to love you, they'll all want you." He touched my face lightly. "Honestly. This'll work out well for you. Here, I'll show you what you're supposed to wear."

…

It was ten minutes until the show began. The seats beyond the curtains were nearly all full, and the lights out there were bright while backstage they were dim. It wasn't leather I was wearing, but some kind of shiny spandex bodysuit that clung to me as tightly as a second skin and had slashes everywhere in the fabric. Zippers in all the right places would make it fairly easy to get out of. Heavy eye-shadow, eyeliner, and my nails painted black. No shoes for the background dancers. We all wore collars of black metal, with a short, foot long silver chain attached. Our instructions? To go along with what Angel wanted. Other than that, just look sexy and wait our turn. Our turn for what, I wasn't sure. I wasn't going to ask and make myself seem even stupider.

Walking on stage was like being blinded. The audience became a dark mass beneath the bright spotlights. I hadn't been able to wear the rosary in these clothes. The only time I had ever taken it off before was to shower and sleep. I was glad I had had the whole option of wearing it taken away. I wouldn't be able to do this very well if it was there to haunt me. As it was I felt the thrill of doing something forbidden, as if I was breaking some important rule that had been in place all my life, the boundaries of which were only now being breached.

The lights were already feeling hot on me. Then the music started, and I began moving automatically, sensually, soft twisting, trying to imagine how each movement would look. Did I look ridiculous? Did I look like I was trying too hard? I tried not to glance at the others beside me, but I couldn't avoid seeing Angel, who looked wonderful and seemed to be doing everything just perfectly right. There were whistles and shouts from the audience as Angel, now stripped to the very bare minimum of clothes without being completely nude walked back to us. He came to me first, surprisingly, and said, "Just go along with me."

I didn't even have a chance to nod before he jerked the chain on my collar, pulling me close against him and kissing me on the mouth. It was so sudden my first reaction was to push him away, but I caught myself before I did. Damn, I'd never kissed anyone…what did he expect me to do? He was pulling so hard on the chain and pulling it up as well, forcing me to balance on my tiptoes, almost choking me.

"Open your mouth," he mumbled, the movement of his lips too slight for anyone in the audience to notice. I did, and he slid his tongue in, like a shock of electricity through my body. A soft sound escaped me before I could stop it, and I realized he was pulling me out to center stage, into the brightest of the lights, as his fingers tangled in my hair and he bit my lower lip. I felt him pull down the zipper on my back, then he broke the kiss and jerked down the one on my chest and then the ones on my arms, so I was released from those parts of the clothing and standing there bare-chested. His hands stroked over me, so much greater a thrill than I ever could have gotten from my own fingers. And all the while he kept such a nasty grip on that chain that I could hardly breathe.

Damn, I felt light headed. How far was he going to go? His tongue trailed over my skin, across my throat and he bit my shoulder, making my mouth open in a silent pained cry. He suddenly attacked the rest of the zippers as well, stripping me of the suit completely. I didn't have time to even consider feeling embarrassed about being completely naked in front of so many people. Angel was quick to distract me. He used the chain to force me down to my knees, and in that way he stood over me and took my mouth again. I could hear the cheering, the crowd's excitement rising. I didn't know how I was actually supposed to get to my feet again after this; I was already trembling with lust. I found myself panting every time Angel pulled away from me, grinning down at me a little before catching me up again in those amazing things he could do with his tongue. No wonder people paid so much for him, he was so good. He took complete control and I didn't even feel like trying to be in charge. He could do whatever he wanted with me; at that point I didn't care. I just wanted him to keep going.

"Keep your head Mello," Angel said softly. "Come on, the people want a show right? You wanna give them one don't you?"

"Yes," it was a desperate word, almost a moan. "Yes, I do."

"Good," He moved around behind me and wrapped his arms around me, turning me slightly to face the audience full on. More cheering and whistles. I bent my head back and nipped at Angel's throat, and he said. "I'm not about to fuck you, so you might as well stop waiting for it. I've gone as far with you as I will for free; you'll have to pay if you want any more. Right now we have a job that needs doing. Jack off for them."

I didn't hesitate. My hand wrapped around my cock automatically and without a second thought I pleasured myself to the point of an orgasm, arching back against Angel as ecstasy flowed through me and wiped my mind clear of any sense. A little cry escaped me, my excitement heightened by the audience's presence, by Angel's arms around me and his lips soft on my neck, by all the watching eyes. I could feel the lust, the want from them, their desire for me. That all made it even better.

My body felt limp. Angel kissed me one last time and helped me to my feet, telling me gently that I was to retire backstage and rest. I just nodded, incapable of speech at that point, and did as he said. I walked backstage feeling dazed, where Marcus came up to me and greeted me with a slap on the back and cold water.

"Buen chico," He said, nodding his head in satisfaction. "The regular audience members have already been asking about you. They've found you a good addition."

I just nodded, feeling as if I'd just stepped off of a rollercoaster onto solid ground again. I was left with the feelings of an overwhelming rush, the after affects of lust and adrenaline coursing through me and making my limbs shake. I was still utterly naked, and yet I didn't care a bit. The whole world could see me in this skin and I wouldn't care. I heard Marcus chuckle as he watched me, but my eyes were fixed back out on the stage, where Angel had taken command of the next dancer, moving him as easily as he had me. I saw the young man's eyes glazed over with lust, his expression submissive and willing. Is that how I had looked as well?

That charm Angel had, the way he could so easily have his way with us…that was a powerful tool. If I could do that, if I was able to hone that skill as well as he had…

"Hey, Marcus! Ese es el chico nuevo? El rubio ese que esta rebueno?"

My head turned slightly at the sound of the voice, and I glanced back over my shoulder. I almost instantly recognized the man who was approaching us, and my eyes widened slightly, anxiety shooting through me.

"Senor Gordon!" said Marcus. "Ah...si, es el, Senor. Su nombre es Mello."

Dwight Gordon, "The Boss" Rod Ross focused his attention on me, his eyes going over my body with pitiless bluntness. It wasn't that I cared if he looked at me, but for the first time I was noticing just how much of a monster of a man he was. He towered over me, standing as tall as six feet if not taller, and his whole body was broad. Not fat, not overweight, just big. A strong body with massive shoulders and muscled arms. He was altogether thoroughly intimidating, and my mouth fell open a bit as I stared open at him. He smiled at me and reached out to cup my chin, gently closing my mouth.

"You're Mello then?" he said, his voice deep, the kind of voice that you can feel rumbling even in your own chest. The Mexican accent of his lingered even in his English. He ran his thumb very briefly along my jaw, then offered me his hand for a more formal greeting. I took it, nodding my head.

"Yeah. I'm Mello. I suppose you're the owner…Mr. Gordon, right?" I said. Despite my surprise and discomfort to be so close to the man I knew first and foremost as the Boss of the mafia family I wanted so badly to enter, my voice was perfectly calm.

"You can call me Rod," he said, and straightened up to look down at me again. "So that was your first performance…you did well. It's good business to have you working for us. The customers like you."

I couldn't help but smile at that. Of course they liked me, I was damn good. "Thank you."

"I do make a habit of trying out our new attractions for myself however," he said. "I'm willing to pay. If you could be ready in…forty-five minutes? I have suite 35 reserved." He held out the room key to me.

I couldn't react at first. The key dangled there in front of my face but I couldn't make myself move to take it. Try out the new attractions…he wanted to…

"Sure," I took the key, my face a calm mask while inside I felt far from that. He wanted to fuck with me? _This _guy? No way…I wasn't…I didn't exactly… "I'll be ready."

He chuckled a bit, and nodded. "Very well. I'll see you later then, Mello."

* * *

_Hehe, oh such fun! Anyway, I can't understand a bit of Spanish, or Mexican-Spanish, and I've since forgotten what I actually had said in it in this chapter, so I unfortunately can't give you a translation of it. See, I have short-term memory loss…yeah, it runs in my family…or…or at least I think it does…(Cake if you can tell me where that quote is from XD.)_

_Also, it's quite a brief part in the mangas, but it is said the original base of Rod Ross's family was in Las Vegas. Hmm, let's see, where was that…ah! Here. Volume 8, page 158._

_I know it may be considered OOC the way I wrote Mello's emotions during the performance, but remember this is just my take on things. Mello is still young and I can't imagine him ALWAYS having some kind of dominance thing going on :)_

_Chapter 8 shall be coming soon._


	8. Chapter 8

_**Author's Note: **__My, my, what have we here? Why look, it's an entire chapter of RodxMello smut! Isn't that just fascinating?_

_Haha, anyway, here it is peeps, chapter 8. Let me tell you, Rod isn't an easy one to write sex scenes with for me. He…grosses me out a bit :P_

* * *

It seemed that my plans had gone better than I'd hoped they would. Already I had an opportunity to get close to the Boss himself…though, this wasn't in the way I'd expected. I didn't think he _personally _would be the type to do this. Regardless, I had little choice but to go along with it and do what I had to or risk ruining my plans if I did otherwise.

Rod left after speaking with me, and I got dressed and put the rosary back around my neck. Somewhere in my mind I had an entirely irrational fear that the beads would burn me if I touched them. But they were simply cold as I hung them around my neck, beginning to trace the cross with my finger.

What would you think of your little boy now, Mother?

I was determined not to care. With the keys clutched tight in my hand I went up to the suite, the tips Angel had given me spinning through my head. What if it turned out I wasn't good enough for him? What happened then? What was I supposed to do? I had no experience! He couldn't possibly expect much of me…but I didn't want to fail in this. I wanted to be able to hear that I was the best fuck he'd ever had, even if that was trashy. It mattered little what it was in, I wanted to be the best. I hated to fail at what I tried to do.

The room was nice; I certainly couldn't complain about it. But it gave me a different feeling now, to look at the bed. It was almost a sense a foreboding, an uncomfortable feeling. My face was burning hot even with no one there, while my stomach felt cold and the rest of me was just numb.

What was I _doing_?

I was honestly fully prepared to be a whore? Of course I was…I'd already decided that. And thinking of the money, the closeness it could earn me to the mafia, and the power Angel had from merely seduction, I had no want to back out of what I'd chosen. That didn't do anything to help my anxiety, but being anxious was something I was used to. In years, not a single day had passed in which I had not felt worry or stress. It was simply part of the way I worked. There was always something to make me get this sick feeling in my stomach, and now was no different. This was just another test, and it was understandable that I would feel exactly the same way I always had about other tests in Wammy's House.

I could remember knowing a test was coming and staying up all night just to study for it, then being so anxious the next morning I couldn't eat. I could remember sitting in class exhausted from the lack of sleep and shaky from skipping food. After the test, waiting for the results, was always the worst. Sometimes it would be only hours, sometimes days, before our scores were posted. Early on the teachers were told to grade my tests and Near's first, for my sake. Though the results of them never brought me any comfort, they at least replaced my anxiety with anger and I could go on eating regularly and sleeping normally. It was humiliating to walk up to the scores posted on the bulletin board and see mine just below Near's, never enough to surpass him. I cannot even guess how many fights broke out in front of those seemingly innocent posted papers, my anger exploding against anyone who happened to make a comment about "Mello being second again".

That embarrassment…I could imagine it being even worse when it came to sex. I cringed now even at the _thought _of failing what I had to do.

I'd waste enough time. I had probably about half an hour now until Rod showed up, if he happened to be a punctual guy. I stripped off my clothes and got a quick shower, a necessary thing that Angel had made clear to me. Just long enough to wash the stage sweat off me, and that was it.

"_Don't overdress," _he'd told me. _"Remember, the whole point in clothes is to have them taken off. So unless they specifically request it, don't making yourself look like a bondage slave or any of that crap. Look nice but don't overdo it."_

The clothes I had were good enough. Even if they weren't they would have to do anyway, since I couldn't very well get back to my apartment for something else. But I dressed nice on a daily basis, and today was no exception. Tight black shorts so I could manage to survive the awful summer heat, and a maroon button up collared shirt with little skulls on the buttons and a hint of silver thread woven into the fabric. A grey tie, worn loose around my neck and the feather fedora I loved to wear completed it. I didn't really know what to do with my feet. I had some leather lace-up ankle boots, but did I really have to bother to put them on? They sounded as if they'd be problematic to get off, so I simply left them by the door.

And of course, my rosary, hanging around my neck like the sick hypocrisy it was. I stroked the cross as I paced a bit, finding it to still be cold even though it had been close to my body heat. The air conditioning must have kept it chilled, as it was pretty strong in that place and we certainly needed it.

Another thing Angel had warned me of was to not think. Don't consider if this is what you "really want" or if you're turned on by it, or enjoy it in any way, or hate it, or are looking forward to it. None of that was allowed. No thinking about it, therefore no worry, no fear, and hopefully no mess-ups. It was good advice but I wasn't very good with carrying it through. I was even beginning to obsess over what was coming, just useless anxiety going through my head as I tried to make myself calm down. Why did it matter? Why did it have to fucking matter to me so much? I'd been doing well for so long, not caring about a thing. It just figured that something would come along to completely shatter-

I actually flinched at the knock on the door. It was almost like a fight-or-flight moment for me; for a split second all I felt was completely irrational panic and my fist snapped tight around my cross so hard that I felt it cut into my skin…again. Damn, now I was bleeding a little… should I worry about that? No…no, enough worry. I needed to stop it.

It was worth it. It would all be worth it in the end…

I opened the door, the most sensuous look on my face I could possibly manage. Rod was standing there, as I'd suspected, again reminding me very thoroughly just how wretchedly short I was. Damn the man, it was no wonder he ruled Las Vegas. Not many people could take on him alone, let alone the mafia family behind him as well.

"Hey," I said, opening the door wider for him. "I'm glad you came, I've been waiting for you. Did you have business to attend to?"

"Yeah, just a bit," he said, and the smile he gave me as he came inside was hardly a pleasant one at all. It was lustful, the eyes of a man looking at some sort of prize, an item, not a human. It burned me up inside with fury; I wasn't about to allow myself to be treated like a toy. I wanted that charm Angel had, the way he could make one's body simply melt at will. I touched Rod's arm lightly as I passed him up toward the liquor cabinet.

"Is there something I can get you? I suppose you already know what's available…"

"SoCo, dry, will be fine," he said, and I reached into the cabinet to pull out the bottle of Southern Comfort. I poured him a glass and handed it over, while he continued his silent appraisal of my body.

"You won't be having any?" he asked, raising his glass toward me before taking a drink.

"I'm underage," I said. "No drinking allowed."

"So obedient to the rules," he said, and chuckled. "Are you always so obedient?"

"When it suits me," I said, touching his arm lightly. He had the kind of muscles that easily told me he spent hours a week in a gym. They were the kind of arms that didn't need a gun to kill. "But most of the time I'm rather naughty."

"Mm, are you really?" he reached out for my collar with his free hand and straightened it a bit, before trailing his fingers up my neck. His touch made me shiver. "Good only when it suits you…well dressed…and if I'm not mistaken…" His fingers curled under my chin, lifting my head to look up at him. "Rather playful. Like a kitten, eh, chico?"

"If you think so," I said, though I didn't particularly like being compared to a fuzzy baby cat, and the word "kitten" in this context made me think of a pole-dancer. "But anyway, would you like a seat?"

"I'll just take the bed," he said, and his words gave my body a shot of adrenaline. He set down his glass on the bedside table and slipped out of his shirt, then lounged upon the bed, an altogether intimidating figure. It was clear that he went to the trouble to maintain a good appearance. I made a quick mental note to start working out, or something of the like; if the rest of Rod's family looked like he did, then there was no way I could get a thing done around them. They would have no reason at all to respect me.

Rod took up his glass again, sipping at it, his gold necklaces shining against his chest. He crooked a finger at me, and I realized I'd been doing nothing but standing there like an idiot. What was I _supposed _to be doing? I knew I'd feel stupid if I really started flirting, or if I tried any harder to be sexy. So, feeling a bit at a loss, I went over and crawled up on the bed to sit at his side, and he reached over and pulled on my tie to loosen it.

"How about you strip for me, kitten?" he said, seeming to have settled on that name for me. "I'd like to see that body of yours again."

I smiled, pulling the tie the rest of the way off from around my neck. I slowly popped open each button on my shirt and slipped out of it, pausing as his eyes swept over my chest. I let my hands slide over my skin smoothly, allowing myself a little sigh as I let my nails lightly trail down to my shorts. I went up onto my knees to pull down the zipper, but Rod held his hand for me to stop suddenly.

"What are you wearing underneath?" he asked, a little smirk on his face.

"Thong," I said, which in all truth I really didn't like wearing as I found it rather uncomfortable. But Angel had given it to me, one he'd never worn because it was too small, and told me to wear it, so I had.

Rod motioned me closer once more, and I crawled over on my hands and knees, putting one arm over his body as he reached out for me. His one hand grabbed my ass, making me flinch, and his other hand brought the glass to his mouth once more.

"You're nervous," he said, not even bothering to make it a question. "For all your bold looks you're shaking. Are you scared of me?"

I smirked, hating him for pointing out my weak emotions. "Anyone in their right mind would be scared of you." I ran my hand over his chest. "But I don't mind a little thrill."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Really? You like danger…" His gaze suddenly switched to my rosary, which I'd left on out of habit. For years it had always been the last thing I took off, and the cross was now lightly touching Rod's chest. He set down his now empty glass and took the cross lightly in his fingers. "Do you pray to the Holy Virgin, kitten?"

"Yes," I said. "I do."

He looked like he wanted to laugh at me, and I hated him even more for that. "What do you pray for?"

I was getting sick of his questions. He was just toying with me. "For forgiveness," I said, reigning in my anger. "Because I'm a sinner."

"Aren't we all?" he said, as he wrapped the rosary around his hand, as if it was a leash, pulling me closer to him. "It takes a bold few to actually have the nerve to ask for forgiveness. But you must be even bolder than just that. You actually have the nerve to wear this when you're about to get fucked."

He crushed my lips to his, pulling so hard on the rosary that the beads were biting painfully into my neck, and I prayed silently that it wouldn't break. I could taste the bitter alcohol on his mouth, and his tongue touched my lips, making me automatically jerk to pull away, not that I could go anywhere. My breath quickened a bit, fear making my body tingle with pent-up adrenaline. The fear came from the suddenness; I'd been completely unprepared for him to kiss me so quickly. But I didn't even think this could be called a kiss. This was no gentle touching of the lips, no sir. It was more like he was ravaging my mouth, making me feel as if I was suffocating, taking all my breath away. The way he used his tongue was significantly different from how Angel had done it. This was in no way charming or seductive; it had nothing in it for me. He was simply taking what he wanted and nothing more.

I can't say I was pleased with that, but what was I to do? It wasn't as if I could back out now.

His tongue was far enough into my mouth to touch the back of my own, and it took more than a little effort to resist the urge to gag. I was lucky he didn't keep it up for long, instead breaking it off and leaving me breathless as he shoved me down against the pillows.

"Wait," I said. "Just give me a moment-"

He cut me off with his mouth again. I cringed under his body, all illusions of perhaps enjoying this now gone. I just wanted to get through it and have it over with, yet I knew the worst was yet to come. Damn it, why did it have to be this way?

Rod smirked as I lay flushed and trying to get my breath beneath him, easily cradling my face in his hand. "Tell me, kitten," he said, his breath hot on my face. "Have you ever had a lover?"

"Yes," I lied. There was no way I was telling him the truth on this matter, revealing that weakness to him. I felt sick. I knew this was just part of the process; I had to start somewhere before I could achieve anything great…but I hated it. I hated it so badly.

"You seem out of practice," he said, as he began to stroke my chest. Just what did he mean by that? I squirmed a little under his hand, flinching at the touches, my skin extra sensitive to a foreign hand. I wasn't used to this-

Ahh. Was that what he'd meant then?

"Sorry," I mumbled. "It's been a while."

He chuckled, beginning to bite softly at my neck. Damn it, I hated feeling so small around him. Why did he have to be so wretchedly big?

"Think of this as a job interview," he said, as he began working on getting off my shorts. "You'll really have to sell yourself if you want to impress me."

Well this was a sucky kind of interview. But I went along with it and bit my lip softly, feigning even greater fear than I felt. Whatever, if he wanted me frightened so be it. He could have his sick fun. I wasn't about to give up just because he wanted to play rough.

With me stripped down to that wretched thong, Rod paused only for mere moments to look me over, before he backed off a bit and began unbuttoning his pants. Waves of uncertainly plagued me…Wammy's House certainly never taught one about anal sex but of course I _knew _about it. But it was a foreign thing, something I'd heard of but had no interest in and therefore ignored, so I was pathetically ignorant in what was supposed to happen. It was a relief when Rod didn't immediately go to strip me of my last scrap of modesty. He instead sat back, his erection now bared, and motioned me over.

"Suck it," he said, and my mouth must have dropped open. He couldn't be serious. Maybe he hadn't noticed, but the two of us were simply of different size scales. I couldn't imagine what he was suggesting working out well in the least. It wouldn't…it just wouldn't _fit_.

He grinned. "What's wrong? Can't do your job properly?"

It was the exact kind of humiliation I'd feared. I _wanted _to do things right, and I hated getting it wrong, but I couldn't help but view his order as utterly ludicrous. Still, I crawled forward on my hands and knees, mumbling that of course I could damn well do my job properly. But the closer I got to him the more disgusting this was sounding, and the last thing I wanted to do was touch my mouth to _that_. I hesitated again, and clutched my rosary suddenly, realizing it was dangling terribly near his cock.

"What happened to doing your job damn well?" he said, and I glared up at him. Job or not, he knew he didn't have to treat me this way. "What are you worried about? The beads? I'll hold them."

"I'm not taking it off," I said peevishly, and he pressed his hand against the back of my head, forcing me down, then pulling up on the back of the necklace so it pressed against my throat.

"How's that Catholic boy?" he said. "If you think it'll save you from getting damned to hell, there you go."

It was tempting to bite him, but I resisted. I had to remember what this was all for, why I'd even come to America. I had a mission; I couldn't lose sight of it. I had to gain entrance to his family. I had to have access to the power and influence they did. For the sake of that, I was here sucking some guy off in a hotel room, as best I could at least. As best I thought I could. Rod thought otherwise. The moment he realized I wasn't making any strenuous effort to get his dick any farther in my mouth, I felt his hand on the back of my head again, pushing me down. Damn it, what was he trying to do, choke me? My hands scrambled to brace themselves against something as my throat tensed in a gag-reflex, and Rod paused.

"Your lover must have been awfully soft with you," he said, and by the tone of his voice I could tell he was mocking me. He knew I had lied. "What, you can't even do a little deepthroating?" I groaned, enough of an answer for him. "You should relax. Keep tensing your throat up like that and you'll gag. You'd better not vomit on me, got it?"

I barely nodded, fighting down the natural instinct to panic and trying to make my body relax. With all my concentration on that I wasn't even thinking to move my head at all, so Rod was doing that for me, forcing my head up and down. My arms were beginning to shake, and I was whimpering every time he touched the back of my throat. I hadn't even considered things like this. Why couldn't I just think things through better? I'd know it wouldn't exactly be easy, but this…

He started playing with my ass, running his finger down the thong strap, pulling it up and letting it slap down, caressing and squeezing my skin. I wished it was getting easier, sucking him like this, but it hardly was. I could taste something in mouth, and I knew it was pre-cum, making this only more nauseating for me. I didn't know if I _could _keep from throwing up. What would he do to me if I did? A man like him probably carried a gun…

Agh, there was no way I was going to die this way. He wasn't going to kill me; I would give him no reason to. I forced myself to move my head on my own, no longer needing his encouragement. His hands went on toying with me, suddenly reaching down and cupping me through the cloth, squeezing almost painfully hard. But at the same time…it brought me pleasure as well. I knew it was bound to happen eventually, some excitement on my part. If only I had better control of my body. To hate something so greatly, yet suddenly have my body telling me it was getting some enjoyment was a horrid sort of betrayal.

"Ah, sensitive aren't you?" he said. "Looks to me like you've hardly had a bit of experience. Especially considering…" His fingers snaked under the thong strap, pressing against my anus and making me flinch. "Especially considering you're so tight back here. What, you and your lover never fucked?"

I couldn't very well answer him, but he put his hand under my chin, pulling me up to look in his eyes. "Well?"

"It's been…a while," I said, wishing I could get the taste of him out of my mouth.

"Couldn't have been so very much of a while, kitten," he said. "You're young. Just how long ago did you have this lover of yours?" he still had a grip on the rosary, and the way he was keeping it so tight around my neck made my voice sound somewhat strangled.

"Maybe a year," I said. He nodded.

"Is that so? Well, since you've done this before, I suppose there's no point preparing you. You can take it."

All at once he shoved me back against the pillows and jerked down the thong, tossing it carelessly aside as he untangled it from my legs. Instantly ridiculous, childish panic shot through me, fearing the pain and the unknown. It came out as a pitiful little cry and my hands pressed against his shoulders, a useless gesture as it would never have kept him off me. He paused, and I froze, humiliation burning over my entire body. I hated to do this…I hated to admit it…I hated it…I _hated _it…but…

"I don't know how," my voice was a whisper, hissing out from between my clenched teeth. "I've never done this before."

I was such a coward! Why couldn't I have just stayed silent and taken the pain? But this was different; this wasn't hard blows, a knife, fire, or a gun. This was degradation, violation, personal, and private. This was everything I'd fought so hard to keep from happening. I'd never in my life wanted to allow myself to be ruled by another, to be put down or dominated by someone else. I despised that with such a passion the very thought of it had always made me ill. I hadn't thought it would be like this. There was no respect here, none at all. Even Angel had at least treated me like human and whispered encouragement to me, even if he was dragging me around by a chain. Here I was only being toyed with. This wasn't how I'd hoped I would obtain my goals. If this was what was necessary, of course I wouldn't back out, and I knew it was just that. Already I had gotten just a little bit closer to the family; The Boss himself was about to fuck me, as unpleasant as that was.

But it was something. It was one more step. It was a bit closer to beating Near. It was just another way to get ahead in the game.

I had to remember that.

I drew a slightly shaky breathy, meeting Rod's triumphant smirk with the best defiant glare I could muster. I didn't even let it slip when he used my own tie to secure my wrists to the headboard. He began to stroke between my legs, making me squirm a little, but I was determined not to give in any further.

"So that's it," he said, picking my cross up in his fingers and examining it. "You're a virgin."

Despicable, wretched, _vile _word. I didn't answer.

"For all your defiance, still a naïve little virgin. That'll be fixed soon enough but…you'll have to pardon me…I rather like this idea. It seems all the more twistedly blasphemous. It's like a Catholic schoolgirl becoming a stripper, only…you are truly shattering _every _boundary, aren't you?"

I was. Because I was whoring myself as a boy to men, I truly was doing just that. Hell was waiting for me, but so was Near, and he was getting closer to the finish every day. I had to catch up somehow.

Those fingers of his, having toyed with my erection enough that it was leaking pre-cum, suddenly moved lower. I felt them, slick now, pressing against me again uncomfortably, and I chewed on the inside of my cheek in an attempt to remain utterly silent.

He pushed one finger inside.

Shit, it hurt. My breath quickened for a few moments, my teeth clenched tight against the pain, my hands straining at their bindings. He gave me a brief amount of time, offering no words, then slowly pulled out only to push back in, this time with two fingers. At that he got nothing more than a little squeak from me; I stubbornly choked down the rest of my pained sounds and settled instead for cursing, which sounded so very much better than whimpering like a kicked puppy. But his face was still smug; I'm sure all my pain and embarrassment was clear enough on my face, in my eyes. But I wasn't going to look away from him.

"Just like a real kitten," he said, and his voice was lower now. "Have you ever had a little cat? When you take them to the vet, they'll take their temperature using a thermometer this way." He watched my face the whole while, scissoring his fingers within in me. It took all my willpower to keep from voicing my pain. Even worse, it was beginning to get to me, the feel of something inside me…my body was trying to tell me this was alleviating the pleasure, and I tried to refuse to listen.

My body is awfully loud when it tries to tell me something, unfortunately.

"So shall we have your temperature?" he said. "Just how hot is it, eh?" He leaned down, talking close to my ear as he made two fingers three and my heavy breathing began to contain little whimpered sounds as I exhaled. "Hot enough to make even your dick sweat it seems." He chuckled, and I wanted to cringe away…but I couldn't very well do that, already pressed as hard as possible against the pillows.

"Can you handle it yet?" he asked, listening to me curse as he moved those three fingers in and out of me. Damn, if only it didn't feel good, I didn't want to like it at this point…

"Y-yes," was the only reply I could manage without dissolving into full-blown gasping. I had to keep my mouth shut or it would all slip out.

He repositioned himself, and nervous anticipation settled steadily in my stomach, like a block of ice in me. Just get it over with, just have it done already-

"Hm," his hands gripped my hips, and he shook his head at me. "We'll see."

Maybe _he'd _see, but it didn't take _me _long to lose that ability, and all sense with it. There's a certain place fingers don't reach, and as Rod began to move in me he hit that place hard. So much for my self-control, my carefully maintained defiance, and desperate indifference. So much for hating this. This ecstasy was like nothing my own hand had ever given me. It was overwhelming and all-consuming. It made it so that even as I gasped it didn't feel as if I was getting enough air. I couldn't look at him anymore; I just closed my eyes and cried allowed, every time he slammed into me wrenching another cry from my throat. Yes, it hurt…but more than that it felt good, so good it was indescribable. I wanted very much to be able to turn my face into the pillows and be as loud as I needed to be…but even now I felt the fragile control I still barely had hold of over myself crumbling away. There would be nothing to keep me from expressing myself soon enough, that was for certain. Even worse I could feel tears stinging my eyes, the underlying pain getting to me.

"You might as well make use of your rosary," he said to me, and I managed to quiet myself to listen. I couldn't think straight enough to refuse to comply right then. "The Holy Mother was a virgin, but you aren't like her at all now are you? You're losing every last shred of innocence you had in this already sinful body of yours. So why don't you pray? Pray to the Virgin, and maybe she'll forgive you for forsaking her. Do it."

My thoughts were swimming uselessly. All I could manage to remember now was that he'd told me to think of this as an interview. I needed to sell myself, impress him…anything for the job…for the final goal…

"Hail Mary, full of grace..."

It was hard to get many words out at a time. I kept having to stop to try to get my breath. As it was each word was more a gasp than anything else.

"The Lord is with thee…"

As He used to be with me. Shit, what had I done? This was sacred, these were holy words! This was a prayer I would listen to my mother say in church; these were the same words I would whisper with her, as we both clutched these beads.

"Blessed are you among all women, and – a-ah! B-blessed is…the fruit of thy womb, Jesus."

I didn't want to cry. That was the last thing I wanted to do. But he'd stripped me down to the very barest I could possibly go, inside and out, he'd tormented me to this point. It was my choice too…I'd chosen this…I'd made the decision…

"Holy Mary, mother of God…"

Anything for the goal…anything to win…I had to. I couldn't give up now.

"Pray for us sinners now, and in the hour of our death-"

And it was, indeed, as if in that moment I died.

He took me all the way to an orgasm, hard and mercilessly, and when it was done and we were both breathless, I lay completely limp with my eyes still closed. I felt as if I would never move again. I didn't want to raise my head, or my arms. I didn't even want to bother to open my eyes. I was shaking all over, I felt so drained of energy. I wanted to sleep. I wished I could fall into a coma and just sleep for days.

I wished I could wash away all the filth I felt.

His hand stroked my face, a surprisingly gentle touch. "You should end the prayer, kitten," he said, and untied my hands. My fingers fumbled for the cross, but I couldn't bear to look at it.

"Amen."

And that single word, was, in my own way, the most sincere apology I had yet made in my entire life.

* * *

…_O.O I take it there's not really much that needs explaining. So I'll use this space to thank everyone for their reviews! Chapter 9 shall be coming soon. Man, this story is long, I'm so happy :D_


	9. Chapter 9

_**Author's Note: **__Aw, I've been so cruel to poor Mello haven't I? Well I'd say that last chapter is about the worst of it you'll see. So you've gotten through that, and if I remember correctly, it shouldn't quite reach such a level again :) Count on the occasional yaoi scene again however, just not so angsty. (I'll make it up to you Mello. Someday soon I'll write fluff for you or something XD.)_

* * *

I lay on the bed tangled in sheets for a long time after Rod had gone. He'd left money on the bedside table, but I felt too ill to look at it. I tried to shut out my thoughts, but still my sleep was fitful. I didn't know what to think anymore. My mind ran wild, the thoughts uncontrollable, my emotions running rampant and wrecking havoc in my head. What was I to do? What now? Abandon the very foundations of my life for the sake of reaching the pinnacle of it? I felt so disgusting, having worn the very beads my mother had always prayed with in church while this happened.

I had to wonder…had she worn them as well, the night I was conceived?

I had been born a sin, how could it be any surprise that my very life would continue to be one? For months I'd ignored this religion of mine almost entirely, but it was a wretched pest. It never left; it was always there, haunting me. A memory, a habit, an item…beads, weighing heavy around my neck.

I slept for hours, on and off. When the sun began to rise, I stumbled from bed only to close the curtains, and it was then that I noticed just how achingly swore I was. Damn Rod, the bastard. So that was him, the man I wanted to work with.

Shit.

I fell back into the blankets again, burrowing under them and curling up and clutching the cross just so I could curse myself and Rod and this whole wretched damned world. I cursed Near last, for good measure, because he deserved it. He'd driven me to this. I'd bet anything _he _was still a virgin, surrounded with his money and his protection. Damn him. _Fuck _him, in fact.

But Near…he remained as one of the last pieces of childhood I had. He was very like this rosary; never leaving, constantly there, ever a pest, and ever an influence over me. The governing forces in my life…

Beads and a little boy. Well wasn't I impressive? It was _pathetic_.

I crawled out from under the blankets, picking up my phone off the bedside table. I punched in Near's number, listened to it ring twice…

"Hello Mello."

I didn't say a word back. I just let that voice bounce about in my memory. It restored a little of my sanity, miraculously. It at least put me in mind that this had been worth it.

"Mello?"

"Fuck you," I mumbled. I didn't hang up, but just let the phone lay against ear.

"Is that all you called to say?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm not going to bother to tell you anything important." As if I had anything important to tell.

"It's been…a year. At least. You called to curse at me?"

"Appears so." Amazing that I was actually _enjoying _hearing Near for once. But he had all the calm that I didn't. When I let it, that calm could rub off on me, and it was helping right then. It was putting everything correctly in perspective, returning me to where I needed to be.

This was a game, and I was simply playing along. It was a race for the goal, and I was getting closer.

"Are you hurt?" he said. I didn't detect any particular concern.

"I'll live."

"It would be unfortunate if you didn't. Will that be all then?"

"Yeah."

He hung up instantly, and I stared at the phone for several seconds before I pushed the off button as well. The worst was over. I'd gotten through my first time. It wouldn't take too much longer now. Soon enough, I would be able to contact Near as an equal. Then I wouldn't have to feel this wretched anxiety anymore.

I sat up, feeling a mess. My skin was sticky with sweat and…other fluids…and my hair felt knotted. My clothes were still strewn about the floor, and the bed was, understandably, in complete disarray.

And I smelled. Like _his _cologne.

I did _not _want Rod's scent all over me.

I did wonder for a moment how long I had this room, but the keys were still there. I didn't have any intentions of turning them in until I had to. I'd damn well earned the right to use this room, and there was no reason why I couldn't keep it as long as I pleased. There were plenty of other rooms here anyway.

I got a shower going, making the water as hot as I could possibly stand it, so that the bathroom was steamed up in only about a minute. Now that should the wretched scent of cologne of me. I hissed a bit as I stepped into the water, but my skin got used to it after a bit, once it had been thoroughly scalded to the point of simply not feeling much anymore. I'd taken my rosary off and laid it next to the sink, but I wanted to make sure I cleaned it later, somehow. It was almost, ridiculously, like having another person in the room, someone who likes to nag, and I fought the urge to pull back the curtain and glare at the rosary as it sat there, completely silent everywhere but in my own head.

It turned out that Rod's cologne didn't want to go away with just water, and the soap just mixed with the scent, it didn't eliminate it. And I really scrubbed my skin, stopping only when I realized that it was looking on the verge of bleeding. Damn it, what would erase the scent then? I wanted it _off_; I didn't want to smell this vile scent again until I absolutely had to. I wanted no attachment to what had happened the night before. But I couldn't very well douse myself with bleach, and alcohol would probably erase the scent but it would make me sticky as well. I could always run down to the store and get rubbing alcohol…but I didn't want to bother. I didn't feel like going anywhere, except maybe back to my apartment. Thankfully I didn't have a shift working the tables today and I could find out when Marcus wanted me on stage again tomorrow. I needed a break.

I did eventually find something that got rid of the smell, conveniently right atop the little fridge. I was satisfied after that, and though I stepped out the shower feeling as if my skin had been scrubbed with sandpaper I was at least clean. I didn't feel like dressing just yet, so I just wrapped myself up in one of the thick hotel towels and sat upon the floor, fiddling with the rosary I'd put right back around my neck again. That sick bastard, Rod, making me say a prayer. That was just wrong. I began to consider the idea of going to confession later…I hadn't been for years, and who knows, maybe it would make me feel better-

There was a sudden knock on the door, and I got up slowly, going to open it without bothering to check who it was.

"What?" I said, before I even saw my visitor's face. Angel raised his eyebrows at me slightly, probably surprised by my harsh tone. I didn't apologize.

"You have a long night Mello?" he asked. "I just thought I'd see if you were alright…"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I said, not slamming the door in his face and hoping he would take that as an invitation to come in. He did, luckily.

"Well you said you'd never had a job like this before, and this morning I heard Mr. Gordon talking to one of his friends….so….you hadn't told me that you'd never had sex before either."

I winced. It just figured; Rod was a filthy bragger, going around talking of what should have been his private life. "Would it have changed anything if I'd told you?"

"Not really," he said, and shrugged as he began to absentmindedly straighten the bed sheets. "Maybe I would have told you to consider waiting…but it wouldn't have made much of a difference. I know it would make a difference to _you _though, when it came down to it. So I just thought I'd see if you were okay."

"Mr. Gordon," I fairly spat out the name. "Is a vile bastard."

Angel laughed softly. "Ah, that's unfortunate. You come across a lot of 'vile bastards' in this business. You just go along with it. Of course, you _can _turn them down…"

"But that's not good business," I said.

He nodded. "Exactly."

There were several moments of silence, during which I continued to sit and sulk in the corner chair I had taken a seat in. Angel said at last, perfectly blunt, "Are you sore?"

Damned question. "A bit. I'll get over it."

He smiled at me softly. "You're a stubborn one aren't you? Well, you seem well enough. Rather angry though, and…" He paused, sniffing the air. "What's that smell?"

I sighed. "Vinegar."

He frowned in confusion. "Vinegar? Is it…_why_?"

"His cologne was all over me," I said. "It was pretty strong stuff."

Angel smiled and shook his head, then walked over to me and petted my head. Usually I would have jerked away from a touch like that, but I went ahead and let him. "You'll get over it," he said. "You seem strong. After this, nothing will be a problem for you." He leaned down and kissed my forehead. "Though the vinegar isn't very attractive. You could have just paid me…I would have done it for you, and I never wear cologne." He kissed my lips softly, and it was the same kind of kiss he'd given me the previous night, slow and seductive. I kissed him back, but when he pulled away with a questioning look I didn't ask for any more.

"I think I've sinned enough for one day," I said. "I need to go to mass or something."

He chuckled. "You should forget the religion stuff. Seriously, you'll be better off."

"I'd sooner abandon my own mother," I said, and I was dead serious. For if I did give up this religion…my mother would go with it.

…

"O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments, but most of all because they offend Thee, my God, Who art all-good and deserving of all my love. I firmly resolve, with the help of Thy grace, to sin no more and to avoid the near occasions of sin."

Lies. I hadn't firmly resolved anything, save to continue doing exactly what I'd done the previous night, for my own sake.

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…" I paused, kneeling in the confession booth, having to count in my head. I couldn't come up with an exact number. "It has been…many years…since my last confession." My voice had fallen to a whisper, not that there was anyone else in the church when I came in to hear but myself and the priest. Old habit, again. "I've offer myself as a whore, Father. I've laid with a man and let him f-" I cut myself off hurriedly. "I let him have sex with me. And I enjoyed it. I wore my rosary as he did it and prayed aloud, because he instructed me to. Before that, and after, I kissed another man and desired him, and stripped off my clothes for others." I thought I could end there, as those were all the immediate sins that came to mind. The priest began to say something, but as I looked back on all those years I'd gone without confession, I realized I'd badly fallen behind. I cut him off. "I left behind my best friend for the sake of becoming better than someone else. I let a man take pictures of my body for money. Every day I feel hatred towards someone, and I hate him so much sometimes I've felt like killing him. I'm jealous towards him, and I envy him. I love and desire material things, I can never get enough. I came to America only to join the mafia so I could become better than the person I hate. I'm willing to kill people for that goal and I've thought often about murder. I curse, I'm lustful, I'm hateful, blasphemous, immoral, a liar, careless, selfish, and stubborn."

It all came out in such a rush and I said it so quickly, though with my voice still hushed, that I wasn't even sure if he caught everything. But at least I'd said it. I felt better, and sighed as I relaxed a bit. The priest hesitated before he spoke again, as if to see if I would go on, and when I didn't he said, "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."

There. It was done, and I felt considerably better, far more in balance. I'm sure the priest had heard plenty of similar confessions before; after all, this _was _Sin City. There was probably plenty of demand for confessionals here. I got to my feet, and brushed aside the curtain behind me-

I nearly ran straight into the woman who was standing there. So much for my only just attained release from sin; I swore in surprise as I had to stop quickly to avoid her, and we still came dangerously close to each other. She was dressed in a suit, horid attire for summer in Las Vegas, and her hair was long and blond.

"You know it's rude to stand so close to a confessional," I said in an irritated voice, trying to shake off my surprise. "Give a guy some room, lady."

"You'll have to excuse me," she said, but I already had my back to her, walking briskly toward the front doors. Just where was I off to now?

To stalk the mafia of course. Where else would I go after church?

…

Not much happened in the following months that was worth relating. I fell into my new job at the casino with relative ease, finding that Angel had been right, and it was indeed easier after the first time. Confession was a regular thing, and I still kept a careful watch on Rod's family and news on Kira. There were some interesting tidbits I managed to get from my customers, when they'd feel like bragging about how their place of business, be it anything from a restaurant to a bank, was "good enough for The Boss", or "good enough for The Boss's family". It was unusual to hear, as it wasn't especially easy to get them talking, but with the proper persausion I got it done.

Most importantly, I found out which one of the members could possibly give me a way in to the family. A man who went only by Eddie – I supposed he was the known member Edward Shaw – was a drug dealer out of his apartment, and the man who told me of him mentioned he was "snitching it from The Boss". So Eddie could be my ticket into the mafia headquarters. But before I went that far, I still had to give them a reason to even spare me a glance and think I was worth their time.

Which brought me back to, of course, killing the Don of Rod's rival family.

It would be a risky move, but I'd been watching him carefully for severel weeks. I knew the clubs and restaurants he frequented. I needed to get him somewhere quiet and private, and I knew well how I could do just that. His name was Tony De Luca, a true Sicilian, and known as a man less brutal than Rod. Nevertheless, he had to be eliminated. I didn't have much other choice; it was the only way I could think of to prove myself. Though when De Luca visited strip clubs and bars he only ever showed interest in women, but that was alright. I would still get him one way or another.

With those plans in place, truly the only thing left for me to do was take action…that is, until I realized that I hardly wanted to kill the man with my bare hands. I would need a gun; knives would be far too messy. My previous gun had been left behind in England, since they certainly weren't going to let me take that thing into the airport. So now, I had to somehow get my hands on another one. It would be easier this time, since I had proper ID. I'd even been able to get that ID renewed when I came to America, and my request for citizenship had been cleared. So it seemed it would be easy enough.

And it was.

I bought it and simply registered it. That was it. I could carry this gun of mine in plain sight now, and it was concealing it that I couldn't do. It was as if the world had flopped over on its head. It was suddenly just dandy to show-off your gun in plain sight.

Needless to say, I now considered Nevada to be pretty kickass.

Now, on top of keeping an eye on Rod and his family, I was always watching Tony De Luca, and frequenting the same clubs he did. I kept my distance of course, just observing him, seeing what he did. He always had at least two other men with him, and I noticed that if he ever did get any private rooms, those men would stand guard outside the door. Did he suspect someone was out for his life? Or were these just standard precautions for him? I began keeping track of all the different men I saw with him, snapping photos with my cell phone. It wasn't long before I noticed that the guys in his immediate vicinity weren't the only goons of his around. They were _everywhere_, watching from booths, corners, even behind the bar.

Then, miracle of miracles, I caught sight of one of them in the audience at the casino one night. Damn, I'd have him alone with me one way or another even if I had to dress up as a woman. Luckily it didn't come to that. I dropped enough hints in his direction that he came up to me after the show and offered to buy me for the night. He and a few others, but he was the most important one. I got him drinking, I certainly got him happy, and it wasn't long before I got him bragging as well.

"Don De Luca has insured every member of his family is safe," he said, that Italian accent strong, watching me as I trailed kisses across his chest and up across his throat. "He is a wise man. He has made sure that our names stay hidden, so Kira can not affect us."

"Really?" I made my voice breathy, taking up my pitch just a bit, feigning a desperate desire for him. My voice had been getting deeper as of late, and I was having to shave more often. It was a wretched amount of work to keep my skin completely smooth. "Mm, it must have taken a lot of work to make sure all your identities were safe. I bet you helped, didn't you?"

He chuckled. "Of course." I kissed his mouth briefly, teasing a bit, and his hands carressed lightly over my back. "He couldn't have done it without my help. I'm the one with the most connections in government."

"You must be such a valuable asset," I said, and almost laughed. This stupid man, _valuable_? It was utterly ridiculous. But he needed to feel good, and I felt his chest puffing up pridefully. "So valuable that people would probably try to kill you…"

"Ha! They'd never manage," he said. "I always carry a gun on me, in my jacket. I'm on of the best shots in the family. Besides the Don."

"Does he carry a gun too? Oh, but he couldn't possibly be as good as you. I can tell, you look like the kind of man who would be so very skilled."

"Ah, yeah, De Luca carries one," he said, and shrugged. "Always does, all of us do. I may look impressive, but," he leaned down and kissed me, finishing his sentence when he was done, "the Don is still better with his aim."

…

I started going out to the shooting range close by, practicing my gun-handling. I didn't know how things would end up when it came to killing De Luca, but I didn't want to take any chances. I had to have the skill to match him.

I was already liking how impressive it would sound. I would kill a mafia boss even Kira couldn't destroy, and that was my ticket into Rod's family. After that, everything I needed to take down Kira would be at my fingertips. The connections, the influence, the money. It was perfect.

Those connections I needed…I wasn't planning on any of them arriving prematurely.

It was my day off, a Sunday, and I had spent the morning sitting through another harsh scolding from the priest. I was feeling ravenously hungry for lunch by the time I started heading back to my apartment, so because of that it went right over my head that I _had _locked my door before I left and therefore it still should have been locked when I returned. But as I said, I was hungry. I went straight to the fridge, and like a very good church-going citizen I cussed it out for not holding the kinds of foods I wished it did. I settled for left-over chicken and a soda; I wasn't much of a cook, but I could manage to put meat and oil together in a pan, and it turned out pretty good. I'd been getting more furniture lately, since I had more money coming in with my new job, so the apartment was looking pretty nice at that point. Other than some stacks of papers and folders here and there, filled with my information on Kira and the mobs, I kept the place relatively clean. I did prefer things to be in order, and to be able to find something when I needed to.

I flopped down on the couch, turned on the TV, and ate the chicken cold, reaching over for the Kira folder that should have been on the table to my left. I paused. Something was wrong. My hand groped without success, and I had to take my eyes away from the TV to look for the folder.

It wasn't there.

I frowned. I _always _kept that folder there, because it was the one I was currently filling and I needed it close at hand. I put down the food and got up off the couch, looking to see if it had perhaps been knocked to the floor somehow. Still nothing.

"Damn it," I said, my eyes scouring the room irritably. Ah, there it was! The blue folder with my bored doodles all over the front of it, sitting on the windowsill. I went over and picked it up, still frowning. I hadn't left it here…I _wouldn't_ leave it here…I rarely even looked out this window! More alert now, I turned my attention to the rest of the room, inspecting it carefully.

Some of my other files and papers were out of order as well, one of the folders had even been left open and rifled. Alright, who the hell had gone through my things? I had my gun on me – yes, I'd carried it to church – and I pulled it loose to hold it ready in my hand. I had never bought a holster, I just kept it tucked under my belt. I went back to the front door and locked it, wanting to slow down anyone who tried to escape. I was getting to the bottom of this, and there was no way I was letting the culprit just walk away if he was still here.

What would they want? Money? I peered into the kitchen again, but found it just as void of strangers as the living room. I jumped at a sudden sound, coming from the bedroom, the farthest room in the apartment. I pulled the gun up, and cocked it, keeping my finger on the trigger. I peered around the doorway into the bedroom…

And found myself face to face with the muzzle of an automatic.

My eyes widened, but I already had my gun aimed right back. We could blow each other's heads off if we wanted, but neither of us moved. I just stared, _knowing _I'd seen this face before. My eyes widened suddenly, realization coming to me.

The woman who stood before me was tall, dressed in a bit more relaxed way than she had been before. Her long blond hair was pulled back loosely, and she was watching me with a perfectly calm expression. The woman from church.

"You…what are you-" I began, but she cut me off. She whipped something out of her pocket, flipping it open to reveal a badge and ID.

"Halle Lidner, FBI. I have a few questions to ask you."

* * *

_Some of you may be wondering "why vinegar"? Well…why not? It's strong stuff. But anyway, there is a proper reason for it and all, but I don't __**always **__like telling my reasons for things. Come up with your own :)_

_Man, I can't believe how much I wrote o.o Chapter 10 coming soon._


	10. Chapter 10

_**Author's Note: **__Hehe, I fear this chapter was written while I was still in my "I hate this story and I want it over with" stage. In other words, I was getting a little impatient right about now, so bear with me._

_Whoot, chapter 10! Thanks so much for all the reviews, I'll try to reply to as many as possible when I can :)_

* * *

Well, wasn't this just great? I had an FBI agent in my apartment. I still didn't know why the hell this "Halle Lidner" was there, except for her own quickly given reason, that she wanted to ask me "a few questions". Sure, that's what they _all _said.

But really, I'd thought I was doing well to stay inconspicuous and unsuspicious. What on earth had I done to give her reason to suspect me?

Unless, as I was beginning to suspect with a dreadful feeling, she had heard my confession in the church.

We had put away the guns, all nice and civil. I'd offered Halle a drink and she'd settled for water, with no ice. There she sat, all straight and official like in the chair opposite me, while I lounged upon the couch and examined her with a look that must have been bordering on disgust, since every time she'd glance at me her face would color silent. I wasn't _meaning _to look at her as if she was a cockroach, but it was rather vile to me, the idea of law enforcement of any kind in my apartment. This was the last thing I needed.

She was writing on a notepad, and as soon as she had finished her teeny-tiny chicken scratch across the page she took a carefully sip of water and settled her gaze upon me.

"So," she said. "What's your name?"

"That's none of your business," I said, as pleasantly as I possibly could.

She smiled tensely. "Alright. Then-"

"Why did you break into my apartment?" I said, cutting her off. "You haven't shown me your search warrant."

She pursed her lips. "This…is not a government investigation."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You mean…you're abusing your power as an agent by using it for your own gains?"

"That is a very harsh way of putting it," she said slowly. "I am…using my power as an agent without the consent of the government, yes, but it's for the good of the country. For the world as a whole."

"Oh really? And I'm somehow involved in this?"

"You said you came here to join the mafia," she said. "I simply wanted your name for the records, and that's why I came here. I would have left immediately, had I not seen your files."

I cursed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's damn rude to listen to someone's confession? Shit, woman, what kind of person are you? A snoop, that's what you are."

She smirked, and chuckled softly. "I'm a member of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. It's in my nature to be a snoop. But listen, like I said, I'm here without government permission. I'd only be bothering to tell you this if I thought it could be beneficial. For both of us."

"How's that?" I said, examining my nails as if I didn't care.

"Could I have a name first at least? You obviously know enough about Kira to be keeping all your records carefully hidden. Needles to say, I didn't find your name anywhere in this apartment. I don't mind if it's an alias, but I'd like to at least have something to call you."

I grinned. "Mello."

"Mello, then," she said, and nodded. "Look, my whole purpose in trying to find your name was so that I would be able to keep you on my own records as a criminal. Therefore, I could have a better idea if you were killed by Kira. Are you following?"

"I'm not stupid," I said. "You're not exactly talking fast either."

She frowned, but went on, a bit faster. "When I saw how much research you were doing on Kira, I got curious. I still am. Just what are you trying to do?"

"First, tell me what this mission of yours is. You know, the one you're doing without government permission."

"I'm trying to track down Kira," she said, without hesitation. "I want to put an end to him. Some time ago a friend of mine was killed by him, and there was far from any justified reason. I know well the pain the family and friends of Kira's victims feel. My government isn't doing enough, so I felt I had to take matters into my own hands. I have a feeling your goal is similar, isn't it?"

I cocked my head to one side. Could I trust her? It wasn't as if she could get my real name, and she really _was _a member of the FBI, at least according to that badge and ID, neither of which looked fake. But as I hesitated in my answer, she went on.

"I think we can help each other," she said. "You have a lot of information here, but I have information too. If we could perhaps-"

"I work alone, thanks."

"Don't be so pompous," she said, and her voice was irritated. "Not even L is working alone."

My eyes widened, my muscles freezing up. "What do you know about L?"

"He teamed up with a small group of the Japanese police, years ago, when the case first started," she said. "I haven't been able to discover who they are, but-"

"One of them is Kira," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. I was talking to myself, but of course she heard me. "That's it. Those are the only people who saw L's face, so…"

"What are you talking about?" she said. "How can you come to the conclusion that one of them is Kira so quickly? You know nothing about them!"

I paused. She could be a valuable ally to me, but could I trust her? She seemed sincere enough, and this information…

"Can I trust you?" I said, a useless question, but one that I automatically asked.

"Absolutely," she said. "I told you, I'm working alone. My lips are sealed on this matter."

I sat up on the coach, leaning forward slightly. "L…is dead."

She stared back at me in utter silence, her face turning ashen pale. Her lips barely moved with the single word she spoke, "What?"

"L, _the _L, the original L, is dead. His place has been taken by a member of that group you mentioned, the only people that could possibly have been introduced to L _as _L. They're the only people who could have seen his face and known who he was. Kira has to be among them."

"But then the current L, who is-"

"Again, someone from that group. Maybe…maybe even Kira."

She seemed to sink down in her chair. "I…I can hardly believe that."

"We decided to trust each other didn't we? We're alone, but I'm willing to make compromises for the sake of benefits. You don't have to believe me, but I'm telling you the truth. L is dead."

"How would you know that?" she whispered.

Ahh…awkward question. Just what was I supposed to say? How much could I reveal to her? I barely even knew the woman, she could be faking this whole thing, but for what gain? She seemed to be completely honest. And it would be a much needed asset to have a connection in the FBI.

"I'm connected to L," I said, though I knew she would want me to expand on that. I just wasn't comfortable giving her this kind of information.

"But no one just has a 'connection' to L," she insisted. "Only his...his assistant…what's his name…"

"Watari," I said. "Also known as Quillish Wammy, the founder of an orphanage in England. _All _the children there are connected to L, including me. Me especially. I was supposed to be the one to take over for him if he died. Either me or another boy. We were L's heirs, but he died unexpectedly, killed by Kira, before he could choose either one of us to take his place. So now we're both working to take down Kira. I'm here to do it _my_ way."

"The mafia…" she said softly.

"They just happen to be my way. They're necessary."

She stroked her finger over her lips in thought. "Are you being honest? I'd had no idea that L was so…I mean, I knew he was a very impressive detective-"

"He was the best in the world," I said quickly. "If L suddenly disappeared chaos could ensue. It was necessary to have back-ups, people who had been trained specifically to take his place. I'm one of them. I'm sure you can find it understandable that I want to avenge him, take down Kira, and prove that I truly was the worthy one to take his place."

"Where's the other boy?" she said.

"I don't where he is," I said. "I have his number, that's all, and at the moment he has far more power and connections than me. By this time, he'll have more information than both of us combined. Does that intrigue you?"

"It does."

"I don't know what exactly he'll do," I said. "But he goes by the alias Near. Soon enough, he'll be coming out somewhere. He'll need to make his presence known, even if it's risky. He'll need professionals to help him; he isn't capable completely on his own. Probably…" I thought for a few moments. "He'll try to get the backing of a powerful government."

"The American government?" Halle suggested, and I nodded.

"Maybe. It's a likely choice. But he'll want to be able to present them with plenty of evidence for what he knows. He's given me…permission…to trade with him. Information for information, but only if I'm able to steal it. Don't bother to understand it; it won't make sense to you." I waved my hand dismissively.

"So you'll need someone on the inside," she said.

"That would be useful, yes."

"And if _I _were to be that inside source, if Near really does choose America, then I'd also be getting information for myself."

"Exactly," I said. "You see? Just like that, and you're a nice little player in the game too. Everyone is working alone…"

"But you can't play without other players. Working alone, but also together."

I nodded. "That's it. We can all make fair trades, as long as we want it enough to take it."

She shook her head. "This is real, isn't it? An orphanage of children raised to be L…there's something going on here that the rest of the world would never even see."

"There's a lot the rest of the world doesn't see."

"Even between you and Near, what you're talking about with fair trade. It's all something deeper than just an investigation to bring down Kira."

"Of course," I said, and shrugged. "I'm sure you have your special little reasons too. So you have yours, and I'll have mine. We can keep in touch."

She scrawled down her cell phone number on a bit of paper and handed it over to me. "I hope you understand, I have to stay within the law. I'm still an agent. What about you and Near?"

"What, are you going to arrest me?"

She paused, then said, "No."

I smirked. "I'll be doing whatever I damn well please, because I _can_. That's my skill here; I can do anything I want. Now Near, he doesn't have that. He has brains, but he doesn't do much. He's dependant on people. Basically, he figures it out, and I do something about it. You, if everything turns out how I'd like, can be the little string between us. If Near gets in with the U.S government, you need to do everything you can to get close to him. Then pass on what he knows to me."

"I'll be the catalyst," she said, and I nodded.

"You could say that."

…

So there it was. Just like that, I had a connection on the inside. I was dreadfully pleased with myself over it, perhaps ridiculously so. But still, the pace of things was beginning to pick up, and I liked it.

Now, I just had to complete the final step. I needed to get into Rod Ross's family, and for that, I had to kill Don De Luca. The question was how to go about it? I knew where he lived; I knew the clubs and restaurants he visited. So where would be the best place? When he was around town he almost always had body guards with him, so how was I to shoot him and get away with it?

I always followed him now, looking for any opportunity, and as an extra precaution I got a silencer for my gun. For weeks it was in vain, and I found no opening, but then came the night when Tony De Luca received a phone call. One simple call on his cell phone, for which he left his goons at the bar and stepped out to the back of the club, talking in a low voice. It was an important call, obviously, and a secret one. It could have been nothing else but that for him to leave his men and go somewhere secluded just to take it. I trailed after him, as inconspicuously as possible, excitement rising in me.

This was it…

For all the weeks and months that I'd planned to murder him, I'd pictured it only one way. Quick and clean, I'd aim the gun and shoot once. I'd walk away without a single witness having seen me. That was how it was supposed to go. Anything else simply wouldn't do.

But you see, I was _stupid_. That isn't how a murder goes.

You're trying to take away life, and the thing with life is that it fights. It fights, and fights, and fights to remain what it is, rather than dissolve into what it isn't: death. De Luca was a man with a lot of life in him still, and with a lot of passion too. At least, passion was what I saw in his eyes as I called his name and raised the gun.

It was the passion to go on living. The second I saw that, something in my mind clicked, and it was as if my whole body went cold. All the while something screamed in me, "No, no, no!" But it wasn't as if I could stop. My finger squeezed, the gun fired, jolting my arm but almost totally silent…and a large stain of red began to grow in De Luca's side.

Only…why didn't he die? He dropped the cell phone and stumbled, but then his hand reached for his own gun. I frowned as he did that, too deep in my own state of shock at what I'd done to act completely sensibly. But as he did that, swearing at me, it was like the very deepest of insults. All the trouble I'd gone to, the planning, all for him to do _this_? He was outright defying me.

It was altogether silly and childish, those emotions I felt, but in truth I was probably far more frightened than he was. My finger pulled the trigger again, and his body jerked, but he was still raising the gun and taking aim…

"_Thou shall not murder…"_

Again, again, and again, I shot him. When he finally collapsed to the ground, breathing hard and shuddering because not once had I been able to stop my own arm shaking long enough to just shoot him in the head, I stood over him, and took aim one last time.

"Who are you?" his words rasped out as blood stained his lips.

I felt as if I would be sick. "The fucking Angel of Death."

And I ended it.

…

There is no need for details on the trip home with his body in the back of the car. I took it with me only for one purpose: I needed to be able to prove to Rod that it really had been me who killed him. But I was going into shock by that time, and it was worse by the time I actually arrived home. I didn't know what to do with myself or…or him. I hadn't realized before that his blood had stained my shirt, and that it was on my hands as well.

All this time…all this time I had thought it would be so quick and simple. Though in truth, it _had _been simple. It hadn't exactly been some kind of difficult conundrum to kill him. But to me, those shots I fired seemed to have taken an eternity. I had gone against the last and most basic teaching my mother had ever given me, though it was probably the one she'd gone over with me the most, considering my angry fits and the fights I would get to in school.

"_You shouldn't hurt people Mihael, it isn't nice. It says in the Bible, 'Thou shall not murder'."_

"_It would be very awful if you ever hurt someone that way, Mihael."_

She'd told me that countless times, in that gentle but disapproving voice that always had reduced me to guilty tears. But I couldn't cry over it now. I didn't feel numb, I felt caged, trapped in my mind with images of De Luca dying flitting around in my head. I slowly stripped off my clothes and showered, scrubbing the blood off my hands…body…hair…damn, it was everywhere, how could there be so much blood in people? I felt absolutely ill, but I couldn't pin my finger on exactly why. Maybe it was the smell. Maybe it was just shock. But I ended up vomiting before I got out of the bathroom and went to curl up on the bed, pulling the blankets tight around me.

"_Thou shall not murder_."

It was an awful night. I wasn't sick again, I wasn't afraid, but I couldn't sleep. I was still just trying to get my thoughts back into order. This was ridiculous, reacting this way. I'd had to do it, there had been no choice. I'd done what had to be done, and I'd done it relatively well I thought, considering I'd never killed anyone. But then the very damning thoughts began to creep up on me, and the word "murderer" wouldn't leave me alone.

Murderer…and killer…the kind of person we were came to despise at Wammy's House as the enemy, as the kind of person L always fought against. I had become the very thing I was supposed to be against. I was now the kind of person L would have tried to track down. But I was doing this for the greater good, I was doing to it to bring down Kira…and Near…

The following morning, I was calm again. Exhausted, but calm. I had made up my mind that the body had to be disposed of; I didn't want it near me or my apartment any longer. Though the sheer filthiness of the situation revolted me, I took De Luca's head. That was my proof. That man's head, tucked away in a backpack. It was doubtlessly the most disgusting thing I did in my life, for me at least. It wasn't so much that I was dismembering him; after all, he was already dead. It was just the blood. It felt so dirty that I spent nearly half an hour afterward just washing my hands again and again, never quite feeling as if I was getting them clean enough.

Nevertheless, I got it done. My proof was locked away in the closet, because I couldn't bear to have it anywhere near my food in the fridge. Therefore, I would have to get the next steps done quickly, before it started…rotting. Ugh. How could anyone possibly enjoy killing?

I had the address for the member of Rod's family who was selling the drugs he'd "snitched", and as soon as De Luca's body had been disposed of – buried out in the sands at least eighty miles from the city – I started preparing to go there. I had confirmed that the man actually was Edward Shaw, despite going by Eddie, as I'd watched the location given to me for several days just to make sure everything was legit. It was, and I got the phone number for the place and called up to arrange a meeting with him. Luckily it all went well and the meeting was arranged. I had to wait only a day, making it two days after I'd killed De Luca, to go down to his place. I had the backpack with me, and the gun hidden, feeling anxious but prepared. I was finally going to do it. All the months of waiting had all led up to this. Now, at last, I'd get what I needed.

Eddie lived in a small house a little ways from Las Vegas, in the town of Pahrump. I drove down there in the evening, my fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as I approached closer and closer. I had the gun…what did I have to worry about? After all, at that point I at least knew I was capable of killing someone. There shouldn't be any problems, and I would probably be able to get a deal struck with Rod before the night was over.

I took a deep breath as I pulled up in front of the house, its front yard dark. But there were lights on inside, and Eddie's car was parked there in the driveway. I got out of the car, pulled on the backpack, and made my way up to the front door. Eddie opened it before I could even knock.

"Name?" he said, and he sounded uncomfortable, his eyes flickering past me out into the darkness beyond.

"Michael," I said. There was no way I was giving him the alias I was using at the casino. I didn't want to risk Rod getting word of this prematurely. "I did call-"

"What's in the bag?" he said, jerking his head toward the backpack.

"The money," I said. "You want it, right? I'm going to need to fill the pack with _something _once the money is gone."

He sighed heavily, and opened the door a bit wider. "Yeah, yeah. Come in. I got the stuff, just follow me."

I did, taking a careful look around the house as I did. There was trash here and there, empty soda cans, a half-eaten TV dinner. Rather dusty too, and the lighting was dim. I had to wonder just how much time he spent here, and how much time he spent in Las Vegas in the headquarters there.

"You brought it all in cash right?" he said, casting me suspicious looks. "I don't take checks…"

"No checks," I said, and tossed him the backpack. "See for yourself."

He set down the pack on the couch and slid open the zipper…I watched his whole body tense, his gaze slowly shifting back to me. I already had the gun drawn and aimed.

"Take me to The Boss's headquarters," I said. "I need to speak with him in person. If you don't want to end up like De Luca, do as I tell you. Now."

For several long seconds he didn't move, but just stared at me with a serious expression upon his face. But then…slowly…he smiled.

"Nice try kid," he said, and any hint of nervousness was gone. Realization shot through me, but it was too late for that. I heard several clicks all around me, the sounds of guns being cocked, and five armed men stepped into view, and that was just in front of me. Rod Ross himself stood there, chuckling.

"Well, well, kitten" he said. "Looks like curiosity killed the cat." And he leveled the gun straight at my head

* * *

_Gasp! Oooh, the suspense! Hehe, so here's some rope to make sure you don't fall, and I'll leave you with that little cliffhanger until the next chapter :D Oh yes, I love my cliffhangers far too much. Muhahaha!_


	11. Chapter 11

_**Author's Note: **__So! Here it is, the ending of that cliffhanger. This was quite a fun chapter to write, I must say. I'm finally able to get into the whole mafia-life bits, and that was what I was looking forward to most in writing this :D_

* * *

Even with a bullet ready to shoot through my face, my body didn't move. My mind was going in a thousand places at once, mostly trying to figure out how Rod could have possibly been suspicious of this particular meeting, but I was finding no answers. My face stayed completely calm and unsurprised, keeping up the façade that I'd almost _expected _them to be here. My own gun remained carefully aimed at Eddie, and my hand didn't even shake.

"So you're here," I said, my voice betraying not the slightest care for their presence. I was bordering on panic inside. What was I supposed to do? They outnumbered me so greatly; if I shot one of them I'd get bullets through me from every direction. I should have known this couldn't possibly have been so simple.

"Why wouldn't we be?" said Rod. "I overheard you wanted a meeting with us. Well," he spread his arm, that one that wasn't holding the gun, "Here we are."

The men chuckled softly, yet the atmosphere grew even tenser. Keep the gun carefully trained on me, Rod walked over to the couch and peered into the backpack.

"Agh, Tony De Luca is it?" he said, stroking his chin. "Wasn't a bad man…nice to have him out of the way, though now we'll have his family blaming us for his murder. They'll want vengeance. How very considerate of you to take out my rival without any further thought as to what exactly it could mean for my own family."

My stomach twisted. There was no backing out now, I had to stay consistent. "I apologize for that. I admit, I didn't think of every aspect I should have when I killed him. But still, I had to prove myself."

Rod raised his eyebrows at me. "Just what are you proving?"

"That I'm capable of being useful and worthy of joining you," I said, and the words sounded stupid. Apparently Rod agreed, because he outright laughed.

"Ha! You think….you think _this_," he shook the backpack in my direction, "is proving yourself? This isn't some LA gangster crew, chico. This is the mafia, you got it? You earn your way in, you don't buy it. You should never have left home; you should have stayed there with mommy. What? You wanted to be a big badass mobster? Is that it? Well I've got news for you, kitten: it's men only, no pesky little boys are allowed. You've caused a lot of trouble. You know we can't let you live."

I showed no fear, as best I could anyway. I kept the gun level on Eddie. "You have to listen to what I have to offer. I'll have no problem shooting him, so just hear me out-"

"Go on then," said Rod, and he shrugged. "Shoot the bastard and save me the trouble of doing it myself. I don't tolerate theft in this family."

Damn. As quickly as I possibly could, I move the gun instead to point straight at Rod, and that made every man in the room take a step forward, cursing under their breath. All of them except Rod. He did nothing, just stood there with a slow smirk spreading across his face."

"Are you going to kill me?" he said. He began to walk forward, and I instantly saw yet another of my disadvantages: my gun was aimed at his stomach, while his was aimed at my head. I'd die no matter what I did.

"Well kitten?" he said, slowly walking toward me. "Aren't you going to defend yourself? You could go out with a…bang." The muzzle of his gun tapped against my forehead, and as soon as that had happened the other men stepped forward as well, and within seconds I was facing every gun at once, feeling them pressing against my head from all sides. I was wincing by that time, fighting off the urge to cringe away, but I still refused to lower my arm. I wasn't dropping this gun and giving up for anything.

"Listen, I can be a valuable asset to you," my tongue stumbled slightly over the words. "I'm not useless, just give me a chance."

"Why?" said Rod. "Why should we even bother to trust you? We hardly know who you are…where you're from…who you might be working for."

"I'm willing to earn my way in," I said, glaring at him. "Anything you want, I'll do it. And if I can't do it, then I'll still try. I'm not working for anyone but myself, but I _want _to work for you."

"To what purpose?"

I licked my lips nervously. "I can help you obtain Kira's killing power."

That made them pause. There was some shuffling of feet, some exchanged looks, but Rod kept his gaze steadily upon me, wondering…

"You know how Kira kills?" he said.

"Not…not yet. I have a way to find out, but I'll need your help. Your group has the kind of connections and money I need to accomplish this. It would benefit all of us."

Rod chuckled. "It sounds to me like you're a bit power-hungry. Have you ever considered that we could just torture you for this information you have? Honestly, having a nosy, power-hungry kid around won't do us much good."

My breath shook as I inhaled. I was _not _going to die here. Not this way. I'd worked too hard for this to not get what I wanted…what I needed. My gun moved again, it whipped back, and pressed against my own head.

"If I die," I said steadily. "Everything I know goes with me. You will never know how Kira kills, and you will never have his powers. Your names are all known; one of these days he's going to kill every one of you. I can help you avoid that, but I am _not _going to be used. I'll die first, and by my own hand, thank you."

I was completely serious, and luckily they saw it. Rod nodded slowly. "Have you ever heard the words, plato o plomo? Silver or lead?"

I nodded quickly. "Pablo Escobar would say that."

"You know what it means?"

"Silver or lead…accept my bribe or take a bullet," I paused. "I suppose, that's what I'm saying. Only I'll take the bullet, and in doing so you'll lose the silver."

Rod smiled. "Very good. That's very good. I like it that. But…we're still doing this my way."

I frowned in confusion, and suddenly terrible aching pain shot through the back of my head. The crowded men moved out of the way around me as I crumpled to the ground, my vision sliding out of focus. Someone kicked the gun away from my limp fingers, and I felt hands on me…

But I was fading. Damn it, it wasn't supposed to go this way…

…

Mm…wait…why was I waking up?

I could feel consciousness returning, though I couldn't say how long I'd been unaware. I was supposed to be dead wasn't I? Hadn't I been shot? I couldn't move my arms or legs, and something was restraining my mouth, stuffed in it uncomfortably tight. The back of my head was hurting terribly…maybe this was Hell. Was that it? I'd died and gone to Hell? It was probably terribly cliché of me, but I'd always imagined Hell as being…well, fiery. But here, it was actually rather cold. Cold and hard.

I opened my eyes groggily, giving my vision a few seconds to focus. The world was tipped on its side…or…no, I was. I was lying down, on a cold floor…it felt like concrete, I moved my head around as best I could, trying to get a view of where I was. Hell, ha! No, this was some sort of basement it looked like. I could see old wooden support beams near the ceiling, dwarfed by thicker concrete supports that were more recently built. A few bare bulbs shone above me, hanging by wires from the ceiling. I couldn't see a door or a stairway, so I supposed those were somewhere behind. I certainly didn't want to go to the trouble of moving to see them. My head hurt too badly for any movement. I just want to lie there.

I wanted water too. My mouth felt dry. Dry, and stuffed with a damp cloth. Ugh, disgusting. I didn't know whether that was to keep me silent or to prevent me from biting my tongue off. Maybe both.

As for why I couldn't move, it felt now as if I was tied up quite thoroughly. Ropes or cords, whatever they had bound me with, were tied tight around me. I took a deep breath, keeping my body relaxed. They hadn't killed me, so they were at least interested by what I'd said.

Several tense, anxious minutes passed, during which I lay in complete silence and waited. What I was waiting for I wasn't sure, but I had little choice in the matter anyway. But then I heard a sound behind me…the thumping of distant footsteps.

I heard a door creak open, and those same footsteps, more than one set of them, came thumping down what I assumed to be stairs. I tried to roll over onto my other side to see who was approaching, setting off the pain in my head worse than ever, but I was stopped before I could fully turn over. A booted foot pressed against my side, uncomfortably hard on my ribs, and a pair of shoes appeared in front of my face. Straining my eyes upward, I caught sight of Rod looking down at me. He was holding something in his hand, something stringy and black-

Oh. That was embarrassing.

"So, _Mello_," said Rod conversationally, as if we were sitting in a nice room sipping wine. "We found this precious thing in your apartment." He stretched the thong between his fingers, and I lowered my eyes again. "What? You didn't think I wouldn't recognize the scrap of cloth the new little virgin boy wore to be sexy for his first time, did you? I know who you are…to an extent." He snapped the thong's side off one of the fingers he was using to hold it, and twirled it before tossing it to the ground. "We'd all very much like to know a bit more about you though. I must admit all those folders in your apartment were useful…we've brought them all here." He chuckled. "Several months ago my men informed me we were being watch…trailed…" He knelt down. "I asked them what the guy looked like, and they couldn't say. They just said he was tiny." He chuckled, and laid his hands on my face before tapping my nose lightly. Damn, as if he couldn't possibly have made me feel any smaller. His hand felt monster-sized on me, and I tried to inch away from it. It was in vain, considering there wasn't really anywhere for me to go, especially not with a boot on me. "I never really expected that some whore from the casino would end up snooping into my family's business. I'll admit, I'm curious. Especially since, not once in all those folders, did we come across any information on how Kira kills."

They'd gone through all the folders? Just how long had I been out? I squirmed a little, mumbling behind the gag, and Rod got to his feet, right as someone began loosing the cloth where it was tied tightly behind my head. But before I was released from it completely, it was suddenly pulled tighter, and Rod said, "Are you going to behave? No suicide nonsense; I'm willing to negotiate."

I managed to nod, and the cloth left me. I worked my mouth for several moments, before I managed to say hoarsely. "I don't mean any harm to you or your family. I just want to join you. All the important information on Kira, what you need, is in my head." I coughed, my throat uncomfortably dry. "I want to talk with you, and I'd like to be able to negotiate too. But this doesn't feel like a very negotiable environment. I understand you had to check me out first. But you've seen pretty clearly now, haven't you? You went through my apartment…I don't mean any harm to you."

"Mm, true enough," said Rod. "There's no use in being disrespectful while trying to work this out; we're capable of being civil. Roy, Skyer, go ahead and set him loose."

I felt the ropes loosening around my wrists and ankles, and sighed in relief. My hands had long since started tingling from the lack of circulation. As soon as I had been set free I was hauled up to my feet, a bit unsteady due to being rushed up so quickly, the blood flowing down from my head and making me slightly dizzy. Rod nodded to me, a civil enough nod.

"Hello then," he said.

I nodded as well, a bit more quickly, while still trying to get my dignity back into place, "Hello back."

"We'll have to search you for any other weapons you may have," he said. "Standard precautions, I'm sure you understand."

"Yeah," my reply was rather strained, considering hands were suddenly groping my front and unzipping my clothes. Oh, it was _that _kind of search. They couldn't just settle for frisking could they?

I grit my teeth and took it, silent as they searched me. With my clothes taken they went through every pocket, turned them inside out and did a very thorough examination, even of the insides of my shoes, which they informed me I couldn't have back. Those were good shoes too, so when I asked why the hell I couldn't have them they informed me that explosives could be easily hidden in the souls of shoes.

"When we're done searching them you won't want them back anyway," said the man named Roy, grinning as he took a knife to the shoes' leather, dissecting it slowly. Meanwhile it was more then just Skyer who had decided to search me; three of them were on me, though in all truth there was only one place for me to be keeping anything hidden. I was surprised Rod wasn't right there with them, but he kept his distance, just watching, carefully maintaining his position of authority. One of them held me bent over, and I supposed it disappointed them that I didn't make a sound in response to their fingers searching me, but I was too used to it to care. Though I couldn't help but wonder how on earth I would ever manage to gain respect in this family. If I was to be humiliated like this, at first, fine. That was how it usually went wasn't it? The new ones were always tormented. But it couldn't last. Not only would I _need _respect here, but I wouldn't be able to bear it otherwise.

"He's clean," I heard a voice behind me say, as I stood awkwardly bent over with a hand on my neck and another hand holding my hands behind my back. Skyer, I guessed, had been the one to speak.

"There was a blade in his clothes though," said another voice, and in my peripheral vision I saw Rod catch my knife as it was tossed to him. He twisted it about in his fingers, moving it expertly.

"So the kitten did have some claws," he said musingly, before tucking the knife in his pocket. "Very well, let him go. Mello, go ahead and get dressed. Roy will escort you once you're ready."

I nodded, watching as Rod and all the men who had come with him – save Roy – departed back up the stairs. Light shone brightly for a few moments as the door was held open, only to be abruptly cut off once more. I sighed heavily, and collected my clothes from the ground, dressing as Roy stood by and watched. Considering the nature of the current situation, I didn't risk any sensuous body movements. It was clear enough that, if I got in, I'd be at the very bottom of the hierarchy here, and I didn't want that _literally_. I wasn't here to be their whore. Perhaps that had been necessary to get here in the first place, but no longer. That wasn't what I wanted for my life.

I had just barely gotten my shirt back on when I realized something was missing, something vitally important. My rosary, which I knew I'd worn to Eddie's place, was gone. I looked about for it, searching the dimly lit corners, but now that I thought about it I couldn't remember it even being taken off me when I'd been stripped. Someone must have taken it before that then…

"Looking for something?" said Roy. "We shouldn't keep Boss waiting."

"Yeah…my necklace. Did you see someone take it?"

He shrugged. "Forget your jewelry kid. You've got an appointment here, do you want in or what?"

"Alright," I sighed heavily. Anyway, it didn't seem that the rosary was down here. It could wait, even though I felt rather uncomfortable without it, as if I'd forgotten to put on socks with my shoes, or something like that. I felt incomplete.

Though, speaking of shoes, I followed after Roy up the stairs barefoot. Wretched man had completely wrecked my boots, and they were still lying down below in a heap of cut up leather and laces.

I could only suppose we were back in the headquarters in Vegas. There were no windows, just walls painted nice soothing colors, decorated with paintings and photographs. The furniture was nice, all velvet and leather, with wood floor that shone as if freshly oiled. The whole place screamed "money", right down to the lights, the little bulbs of which were fastened into fancy crystal and glass lamps and – in places where the ceiling rose higher – chandeliers. The place smelled of cigarette smoke, but I was already used to that because of the casino. Such a scent was perfectly familiar and normal just about everywhere one went here in Nevada. We passed side rooms, offices and bedrooms, as well as single men or groups of them walking about in the halls, who stared at me as I passed. I tried to present an impressive image, but that wasn't easy when going around without shoes after having been unconscious for who knows how long. I probably look a wreck. But I tried at least.

I despised every last one of them for being taller than me.

Eventually Roy and I reached an especially large room, through which we entered by two wooden doors. The wood floor had a large maroon rug over it, the couches and chairs were of chocolate brown leather. Damn…speaking of which…I was dying for chocolate. I really needed it right then. I always used to keep a spare bar in a pocket, but with the Nevada heat still sticking around even now at the end of September, I couldn't risk the mess such a thing would create. Rod was waiting for us there, lounging on a couch, with a tall battle of red wine and two glasses on the wooden table at his side. Roy left me there, closing the doors as he went.

For several moments, there was no sound but the low hum of the air conditioner coming to us through the vents, as Rod stared at me and I at him. But then he shifted in his seat, and motioned with his arm, not to any of the chairs, but to the couch he was sitting on himself.

"Have a seat," he said.

I walked over, my bare feet nearly silent on the rug, and settled onto the cool leather of the couch. I didn't make any great show of putting space between us, but I kept a comfortable distance.

"Would you care for wine?" he asked, having already poured me a glass. He held it out to me, and I took it without hesitation. Forget age. I hadn't had any good red wine in a while, and I felt as if I deserved it.

"You have any chocolate?" I said, taking a small sip and savoring the taste. I leaned my head back and closed my eyes as I swallowed. Yes, this was the life I wanted, the one I adored. Money, luxury, power…Near's defeat within my grasp. I would do anything for this, I couldn't possibly fail now that I had come this far.

And they…they couldn't possibly kill me, they couldn't possibly _reject _me, now that they'd heard what I had to offer. It was too good to pass up, but of course they'd play the tough guys for a while, for the sake of intimidation. I was growing more confident now however.

Rod's response was not to me. Instead, he pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and held down the button on the side, talking into it like a walkie-talkie. "Johnson, bring some chocolate up here. Whatever we've got." He gave me a small smile. "It's on the way."

I nodded, continuing to survey the room, waiting for him to get down to business. I was perfectly content to just sit here and sip wine for hours, if he'd let me. Which of course, he wouldn't. There was "negotiating" to attend to.

"Mello," he said my name slowly, and I turned my head toward him. He was looking amused. "The little foreign boy…of all people." He sighed, draining his own glass of wine in a single gulp. "What do you want, kitten? Is this some childhood dream, some fanciful wish? You watched Scarface too many times or something?"

I frowned. The name wasn't familiar to me, I guessed it was some American movie…but I couldn't let that distract me. "This isn't a child's game I'm trying to play Rod," I said. "I am completely serious. This isn't a joke and this isn't for fun. I didn't kill De Luca for nothing. _You _may think nothing of it, but killing isn't nothing to me."

He chuckled. "Oh, right. You're a Catholic." He reached into his pocket, pulling out my rosary and dangling it from his fingers. "I'd forgotten to return this to you. I doubted you'd want it getting broken while we were bringing you here, so I kept it safe."

I took it from him, mumbling a quick "thank you" as I put it around my neck. The doors opened just then, and a man – Johnson - came in with two plates of various chocolate things. I supposed that was the "whatever we've got" Rod had referred to. I could have just settled for a chocolate bar, but Lindt truffles and a bowl of chocolate chips worked too. They sure were thorough around here.

Johnson left without a word, and Rod observed me carefully as I started in on the truffles. Once I was comfortably settled, fully relaxed now with wine and chocolate, I was more than ready to talk.

"Is it satisfactory?" he said.

"Very. But we _did _come here to discuss working together, didn't we?"

Rod nodded. "We did. So then…you say you don't yet know Kira's killing power, but you can find out. And you are _sure _you can find out?"

"Yes. I'm connected with L," I said, and from there I continued, telling him the same things I'd told Halle, elaborating here and there as he asked questions. He seemed especially interested in why I wasn't working directly with Near, but it was easy enough to explain that. He understood. He'd already read everything I'd found out on my own from my folders, so there was no need for me to explain that.

"That's interesting," he said once I'd finished. "Having Kira's power would indeed be a very powerful asset, though it will take some work…but you said you also have connections with an FBI agent who's willing to help you."

"Yes. But I assure you, she won't act against us. I know how the mafia feels about law enforcement, but-"

He silenced me with a simple wave of his hand. "It's all business, and you won't find any Sicilian and true blood shit here. I don't work that way." He paused for several moments, then said. "If I allow you to join us…you'll start out small. I'm the Boss here; I won't have you forgetting it. No rebellion, no disobedience, no trying to give orders. I'll listen to what you have to say, and I'll make sure you're treated right by the others. But you have to earn the right to be respected. You have to just look at this situation for a moment; you're a boy among men. They're not going to be able to think of you as anything other than a kid, and they're not going to take you seriously."

"But you will," I said. "You know I'm serious."

"Of course. I know you're very serious. What I don't know is if you're _capable_. Prove to them you're serious," he leaned over, touching the side of my face lightly, "And prove to me that you can endure."

"I can endure anything," I said defiantly, and he grinned.

"Well then," his hand settled heavily on the back of my head, his voice lowering suggestively. "Let's see just how much your endurance has grown."

* * *

_Rod, you are a disgusting man. Even though I'm writing you that way, you are. But, after all, it was said in volume thirteen (page 191) that Tsugumi Ohba believes Rod to be the most evil character in Death Note. And that's saying something XD._

_Hehe, no, the next chapter is not going to contain a long, graphic description of anything. But it __**is **__going to be coming soon :)_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Author's Note: **__Wow, 12 chapters x.x And I've run out of things to say about them! So here it is, Chapter 12 :)_

* * *

I had learned to neither love nor hate the sexual exchanges I made with strangers. I took the pleasure, I gave them theirs, and I took the money. It was all easy enough, once I got past matters of pride and morals and set aside any personal feelings whether they were friendly or otherwise. The whole point was to just not care, and as it had already been demonstrated, I could do perfectly well with not caring. For a while.

There was always _something _that could make my emotions rise to the surface, always something to madden and impassion me, making me act without thought. Usually that something was Near; he had a wretched skill in utterly destroying every bit of self control I managed to exercise. But in this case, it happened to be Rod. I already had no small amount of dislike for the man, and before I had forced myself to tolerate him for the sake of business. It was much the same now, only I had grown up a bit since the last time we had a little tryst. This time, I was perfectly eager to get my share fair of fun as well.

It was almost a contest, a battle of wills and endurance. But of course, _everything _was a contest for me. So there it was, no lubricant, no build-up, just rough and dirty. He bit at my neck as I scratched his back and smiled, even though I was half out of my head with the pain and pleasure and was almost screaming. I suppose he must have noticed that I was trying to hold back for the sake of the others not hearing me and preserving my already fragile dignity, for he got me up off the couch and had me reposition, so I could bend over face down and crush my head into a pillow to muffle my noise.

"Scream as loud as you want to," he said, and gave me plenty of encouragement to do so. I'd thought I was long past being so vocal, but it was different with Rod. He didn't have a problem pushing me past my limits, even if those limits had expanded since last we'd done this. There was no way I was going to tell him to stop; this was my chance to redeem myself for all my whimpering the last time. But damn, I knew I'd be sore after this.

"Is it too much? Huh?" he said, his breath hot on my ear. "You know, pain is your body warning you it can't take it…you seem to be getting a pretty loud message."

"Fuck that," I said, speaking with my teeth clenched tight, turning my head away from the pillow so he could understand me. "That's bullshit. That's not what my body is telling me."

"Oh really?" he slammed me so hard I didn't even have time to cover my face again before I yelled. Damn, I could imagine myself having bruises when this was over. "What's it telling you then?"

"Pain…is a sign of weakness leaving the body," I said. I guess I lost an awful lot of weakness then, and I don't know how long it lasted. It all faded into one big confusing mix of overwhelming sensation, the agony and ecstasy becoming one perfect and all consuming high that made my eyes roll back in my head. I had nothing left in me when it was over. I just lay still and quieted my breathing.

"Will it ruin the leather?" I mumbled, as I sat up wavering and tried to get myself back together. Rod was already dressed. Damn the man, nothing kept him down for long did it?

"It should be fine," he said. "I've done this before. You'll find that our world is one of many pleasures. I keep women around for the sake of reputation, but I'll keep you around for the sake of fun."

"I'm worth more than just _fun_, Rod," I said sharply. "I'm not your toy. If you want to fuck every now and then fine, but that's not what I'm here for."

He waved his hand dismissively. "Of course, of course. I know you're plenty valuable. I think this'll work out well."

I nodded. "It's good business." And I shook his hand, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

…

I quit my job at the casino. After all, I wouldn't need it anymore. Marcus was disappointed to see me go but didn't protest, and offered to let me keep the apartment without having to pay back the rest of what I owed him. But I let him have it instead, and within days I'd had my things moved into the mafia headquarters, where I would have my own room. Not many of the men actually lived there. Not even Rod did, as he had a big house of his own. Besides me, only two other men, some of those lowest in rank, actually lived full time in headquarters. But there was always higher ranking members of the family who stayed there through the night as well, to keep an eye on the place.

Rod refused to have me made a member of the family immediately. He wanted to wait, to see how things went with the late De Luca's family, and to give the other members of his own family time to get used to me. Besides that, I could tell he was still questioning if I was capable. He had to be able to trust me fully before he let me be a part of this, and I didn't blame him for that. Fortunately my presence went over relatively well with the rest of the family. The men were tolerant of me, and though they made their snide remarks and taunted, they didn't try anything with me. I wasn't sure if that was Rod's influence or otherwise.

However, there was one among them who especially despised me. That would be one of the other men who lived in the headquarters full time, Jack Neylon. He was nothing but a low ranking Uomini D'onore, a "man of honor", or in other words, a soldier, the lowest rank one could have while still actually being part of the family. Of course Jack wasn't happy with that position, especially after all his years of service to Rod. Jack wanted more, he was hoping to be the right hand man, he wanted to be the Consigliere. It was altogether a stupid dream of him to have; he wasn't nearly intelligent enough to be a counselor to The Boss, and Rod knew that well. The thing that made Jack hate me was that he was seeing clearly how I was working my up to that very position. As the weeks went by, slowly turning to the first month, then the second, Jack was not blind to the fact that Rod kept me close by his side, that the two of us spoke in low voices and discussed things he didn't tell the others.

After the first few times Rod asked for my opinions on things, his confidence in me grew. When he discussed finances, I was able to give him good advice, and when he took it and realized it worked well, he began trusting me with more. The hierarchy rankings here was not as clear as it would have been in, say, the real Italian mafia, but they were still there. The position of Consigliere was currently filled by two men, Glen and Rashual, but I was moving toward it swiftly. Though I was still, officially, little more than an associate and Rod had not even sworn me into the family, I was already climbing the ranks.

It was understandable that Jack hated me because of that. The man was jealous, a perfectly normal and human emotion, but I savored seeing that in him, his desire to be in my place. At times I wore a smug smile around him, taunting without really meaning to be. For weeks, two months in total, he took my presence in silence. He watched and glared, but he didn't threaten me.

And in the end, it wasn't Jack who brought about Rod's anger over the tension between us.

Every two weeks Rod conducted a meeting with a select few of the family, the higher ranking men, myself, and three of the soldiers, Jack included. Any problems were to be discussed, any worries, thoughts, anything. Rod knew it was important to keep peace among his family, especially since they didn't have the respectable bond of a certain country's blood among them. These men were descended from all reaches of the world, so of course there was bound to be tension. Rod saw to it that such things were kept carefully in check, and these meetings were just one of those ways.

Of course it was unfair that from the very beginning I was allowed to sit in on these meetings and listen to what was said, giving my own opinions whenever I felt like it and whispering advice in Rod's ear. The other men took this injustice in silence; Jack took it with anger and mumbled curses and hating looks, but he too was quiet…that is until the fourth meeting, when Rod brought up the matter of De Luca's family.

"The new Don De Luca," he said, "The late Tony De Luca's son, is seeking vengeance for his father's murder. As I suspected, our family is being blamed." I felt the eyes of many in the room look to me briefly, then away. I lounged on the couch with my feet up on the table, nibbling at a chocolate bar thoughtfully, and ignored them. "They're asking a high price of compensation. Money, rights to the city, and two of our casinos - " Rod always referred to everything he owned not as "my" but "our" " - or, we hand over the real killer to prove our innocence if we continue to be so insistent that it was not one of our own. Therefore, at this point, it looks as if the matter will come down to a war-"

"Why should it?" Jack spoke up sharply, and I looked at him in surprise. I rarely heard him speak. "Just give them the damn boy. Why do we have this sudden need to protect him? He isn't one of us!"

There were some mumbles of agreement. Rod stayed calm as ever. "Mello is indeed one of us Mr. Neylon. Though it's true he hasn't been sworn in, he's a part of this. Betrayal is a disgusting thing. We don't do such things here."

Jack faded instantly back into silence, and I couldn't help it. A smirk spread across my face. "Too bad Jack," I said, and his eyes settled on me like smoldering coals. It was thrilling, having this power already. "No luck today."

Apparently Rod didn't approve of my words or my gloating look. He called my name so sharply it startled me, and as I turned my face to look at him, he caught me with a backhand across the face, so hard it knocked me to the floor. I swore at him automatically, though I managed to keep enough of my self-control to avoid jumping right back up and punching him square in the face.

"Gentlemen," he said, as I got to my feet indignantly and gave him an I-hope-you-die glare. "We are a family here are we not? We do not harbor strife or disrespect among ourselves." He gaze fell upon me heavily, first, then Jack second. The response was in agreement, immediate and unanimous, save from me. I excused myself from the room immediately, leaving to, as Rod later put it, "sulk".

I wasn't used to having a solid authority like Rod. Even in Wammy's House, orders from Roger or the teachers weren't really considered _orders_. There wasn't much discipline and there wasn't much reinforcement. So suddenly here I was in this setting, having to be respectful and…and…obedient. It wasn't easy for me, and Rod had a fight on his hands as he tried to get me into a more cooperative state of mind. The two of us had conflicting, stubborn personalities, like two magnets of the same sort trying to be forced together. Both of us had our stubborn pride, the want to lead, the refusal to comply with demands. But of course, one or the other of us had to give in, and I realized that was me. I would probably get myself shot otherwise.

I was especially thankful during this time that I _could _be charming when I wanted to be, as it helped me out immensely. After the incident with Jack during the meeting, Rod scolded me so severely one would think I was his son, not his business partner. In short, he wasn't going to tolerate me being disrespectful to his family. I had to realize my place and be respectful to those above me; that is, everyone. I loathed him treating me like a child, but that was to be expected I suppose; they all did it. Most of them were at least twice my age anyway. It wasn't surprising that many of them disliked me, but after that I did my best to charm them. I was as sickeningly humble and respectful as I could possibly manage, and thankfully it worked. By the time three months had passed, most of them had adopted me as a sort of little brother. Though, going off Rod's influence, some of them weren't averse to ogling my ass whenever they got the chance.

During these first few months with the family, I still kept in contact with Halle. Not much was happening for her. She was waiting, as I was, for Near to come out into the open at last. He would most likely need to assemble a group and get the backing of a government. Why? So Kira would take notice of course. Only when Near came out into the open would Kira be forced out too, in order to meet the challenge.

…

The months leading up to my seventeenth birthday passed remarkably fast. In no time it seemed, I was waking up on December 13th, the clock at my bedside reading 9:03 am. I usually kept late nights and slept in, a habit I'd picked up while still working at the casino, where all the action took place after dark and I would sometimes be up for the whole night. Those all-night activities were no longer required of me – Rod had thus far been respectful enough to keep his distance – but the habit still stuck. So there I was, lying in bed in the headquarters of Vegas's biggest mafia Boss…and I was finally seventeen years old.

Huh. I could finally legally see an R-rated movie in theaters without a parent or guardian. It actually made me laugh.

I hadn't expected the others to know about it, but I suppose I should have. They were all too nosy for their own good and it was my real birth date on my license even though the ID itself was a fake. So they all knew, even those who didn't _want _to know – like Jack. As soon as I was out of my room I was bombarded by more teasing remarks than ever. To them, this was the "big 2 0" for me, since according to my ID I was no longer a teenager at last. I managed to fend them off by simply ignoring them on the way to the kitchen, but unfortunately that was the room in which the majority of them were gathered for breakfast. In a way it felt good, just to have so many people know and care enough to say something, even if it was just teasing. I was beginning to understand why this big mess of people was actually called a "family". But before I could get too fully caught up in all that sap, Rod caught me as I was rinsing out a bowl in the sink and slapped my ass sharply, hard enough to make me yelp and get the others laughing.

"You can count on nineteen more of those," he said to me, and then, louder, to the rest of them, "From anyone who wants to give them."

"Shit Rod, don't say that, I'm not a kid," I said, but it was too late for my disapproval, not that it mattered anyway. Maybe it's needless to point out, but no one else in the family dared to speak to Rod the way I did. For one thing they all called him the Boss, even when he wasn't around, and swearing at him was out of the question. I could get away with that though, simply because he favored me.

But then, I was the only one among us who had to tolerate the use of a wretched pet name on a daily basis. I was still "kitten" far more than I was "Mello", and I certainly didn't see him calling any of the others "bunny" or "puppy". So in truth, I had every right to swear at him. My nickname was vile anyway.

"Why do you still call me that?" I asked irritably one evening. Several of us were seated watching the news, something about some bombing on the other side of the world, and he'd just called me kitten for about the twelfth time that hour. He looked over at me, as if surprised by my question.

"It suits you," he said, and left it at that, as if that answer should satisfy me. I frowned, snapping off a piece from my chocolate bar.

"It doesn't at all," I said. "How on earth am I like a fuzzy baby cat? Besides, that name is vile; it makes me sound like a whore."

Roy, seated nearby, chuckled, and I shot him a glare over my shoulder. But Rod was laughing softly as well. "I certainly find it suiting," he said, and looked me over thoughtfully. "You're cute, like a kitten, but I've told you that before. You're independent and bitchy." Damn him being so blunt. "You're vain as hell, you're constantly grooming."

"Does he lick himself too?" said Jose, laughing at me from across the room. I was about to snap something nasty at him, but Rod cut me off.

"He would," he said, and I easily got the implication. That is, I would if he told me to. "Getting the picture now? Any objections?"

"I'm not _cute_," I particularly snarled, my face flushed and angry as I glared.

"You forgot something else Boss," said Crivelli, who was the only true Italian in the whole family, and even he was only half. "He has claws, like a little cat. Though he isn't sure how to use them yet."

"Ah, yeah, he does," said Rod, nodding in agreement. "He can still only do annoying things, like scratching furniture."

I think they liked it when they got me worked up enough to go stomping off to my room. It amused them to no end, and once Rod actually kept me captive in such a state, so I had to go through my whole fit of temper in front of the others. That's not to say I still threw tantrums, exactly…I just got too angry for my own good and said nasty things. But that, to them, was entertainment.

Apparently, I was just endless amusement for them. Somehow, no matter how hard I tried, I ended up letting my emotions control me and did something stupid. At least _they _were pleased about it.

Such as it was on that very night December 13th, my 17th birthday. Rod had actually spent most of the day away with some of the other men, trying to see if things could be sorted out with the De Luca family. Because of their hatred towards Rod's family the drug suppliers and other family associates were getting leery of us lest they bring down De Luca's wrath upon themselves. So Rod had to go out and insure he kept their loyalty, or, as he put it, "break a few arms". Such excursions as those I was not allowed on, considering I was the cause of it all. Even my daily outings were now especially restricted. Rod didn't want all his precious information to go out with me because of a well aimed bullet if I was spotted by the wrong eyes on the street. Unfortunately, the true description of the late De Luca's killer had somehow gotten out to his family. I suspected Jack as the snitch, since I'd been sure no one had seen me kill him, but I couldn't prove anything.

The meetings hadn't exactly gone as planned. In some cases, not even large bribes of money could convince old associates to stay on with Rod. The De Luca's themselves had agreed to meet with Rod at noon, but they had sent only a lowly soldier to deliver their impossible demands – that I be given over along with a payment of 1.5 million – who paid with his life once his duty had been fulfilled. Rod returned to headquarters frustrated and by no means in a good mood, getting out his prized tequila and passing filled cups around with a grim expression. He had his women under his arms, remaining stony faced as they attempted to lift his mood a bit. I was perfectly content with my spot on the opposite arm of the couch from Rod, nibbling at my chocolate and sipping iced water in between bites, that is until I saw just what was going on. Everyone else in the room had a glass of tequila save me; I hadn't even been offered one.

It wasn't that I was especially keen on drinking. I liked the occasional glass of red wine, sure, but I'd never had any interest in those beverages with high alcohol content. I'd heard plenty of times about the effects of it anyway. What was the point of poisoning your body with a substance to make you act like an idiot?

But in this case, it was a clear separation from me and the rest of the family. Yes, I had yet to be sworn in as a member. But I still wanted to be treated as one. I didn't want to be looked down upon or thought of as less than the rest of them.

"I'll have a glass, Rod," I said, perfectly casual. I wondered if he'd pull any "you're underage" crap, but it was no surprise when he didn't. The man was in the mafia after all; it wasn't as if he actually regarded the law. He poured a glass for me, but paused just before handing it over. He stared at me for several long moments, lounging upon the couch as he was, and unslung his arms from around the women's shoulders. He swirled the tequila in the glass meant for me, then motioned me over with his hand.

I wasn't so well in his graces that I would refuse a command from him, especially one issued in utter silence with such an expression upon his face. I folded the silver foil back over my chocolate and got to my feet, coming over to stand in front of him. He reached up with one hand and grabbed hold of my collar, pulling me down onto my knees at his feet. He took a mouthful from the glass, then leaned down, and pressed his lips against mine.

It was far from what I'd expected, but I didn't protest against it. The closer I was to Rod the better in this case, and as long as he favored me I knew I would be well off. Of course it crossed my mind what the other men would think of me, but I couldn't dwell on that now. I felt tequila dripping down my chin, but for the most part it went as Rod had doubtlessly intended it to, from his mouth to mine. I could hardly bear the taste of it burning in my mouth, and I swallowed hurriedly. There were a few chuckles of amusement, probably at my obvious disgust, but I quickly reverted back to my careless expression, as if what Rod had done was in no way surprising and was in fact perfectly normal. As if that tequila hadn't been the vilest thing I'd ever tasted in my life.

Rod slid his fingers back through my hair, getting a tight grip on it before he spoke to me. "How was it?" he said.

"Tolerable," I said. "Not mad."

A little grin broke through that angry expression of his. "Was it now? Would like more?"

"Yes, if I could just have the cup-"

"What fun are cups?" he said, and kissed me again, this time without any of the beverage to give me. I expected his roughness; he was taking out his frustration on me, getting the satisfaction from me that he couldn't get from the women. I had never asked, but I guessed it was because dominating a male was in a way more impressive or at least more empowering than dominating a female. I didn't think it could be simplified down to just "Rod was gay". It was more of a fetish, at least that's what I thought.

The other men had been a witness to Rod groping me before, but this intimacy was yet unviewed and I was therefore slightly uncomfortable. But I went with it, too experienced to do otherwise. I did hear a few shuffling feet, some of the men quietly and politely leaving the room, but it seemed that the majority of them stayed. The women were certainly looking intrigued, that was for certain.

Still holding my hair in his grip, Rod brought the glass to my mouth himself, and I had to swallow it quickly to avoid it overflowing my mouth. At times I nearly choked, but I managed to down the entire glass within a matter of seconds, difficult as it was. The feeling it left me with was odd and heady, a strange sensation that I couldn't quite shake off. Rod's hand left my hair, instead trailing down and unzipping my shirt. I let him without a single protest, shivering and allowing a little smile of anticipation to come over my face as his cool hands stroked over my chest.

But Rod went no further, at least not right away. He sat back again, and began refilling my glass, though his eyes were no longer on me. Instead they scoured the room, settling most steadily on the eagerest faces there.

"James, would you like him?" he said, when his eyes lit upon the face of the second youngest member besides myself, an almost-thirty man with ginger hair and an expression that belayed his interest in what had transpired between Rod and I. There was a brief hesitation, then the man nodded silently. Rod looked back to me.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused us?" he said, and his voice sounded strange to my ears. He leaned down close to me again, not continuing to speak until I had gulped down another glass full of tequila. It was definite now; something strange was going on with my head, and the liquid had been easier to bear this time. I shook my head, trying to clear it of the odd feelings, but Rod took it as a "no" to his question.

"You may be worth plenty, kitten," he said. "But you have yet to prove any real loyalty to us. This is a family here, can you understand that? You are not yet part of it. You're smart," his fingers grasped my chin, tipping my head back to stare at the ceiling, giving me the feeling of vulnerability with my throat so exposed, "But you still owe us plenty. We aren't going to get out of this mess with De Luca's family easily. It's costing me a lot already to be protecting you, when you aren't even one of us yet. Wouldn't you say you've acquired quite a dept with us?"

"Suppose…suppose I have," I said, my voice slightly strained with my throat being stretched at that angle. Rod gave no response, but he must have motioned over James, because the next thing I knew the man was kissing me on the mouth, his tongue snaking across my lips. I found myself strangely so willing to have him; I even opened my mouth for him automatically. I couldn't find it in me anymore to care who was watching. Everyone in the room was suddenly looking awfully appealing anyway. Damn, what was this?

I wanted more touching and I was being demanding, guiding James' hand down to my crotch and trying to take control, however sloppy and drunken my movements were. The man was slow, hesitant, as if he wasn't quite sure…what's wrong with you bastard, haven't you ever fucked a guy before?

Shit, I was never this desperate! Only by myself, alone, did I allow myself to give in so fully and so quickly. The drink…it had to have been the drink, and it couldn't have been just alcohol. Had they drugged it?

I could hardly make sense of my own thoughts anymore. They were there, but they were faint and wrapped in thick fog, and it was as if they had no real weight or meaning. I felt more hands on me, another mouth licking along my skin, nipping lightly with teeth. My clothes loosened and were pulled away; I didn't care anymore. My eyes were closed and all I could feel was need, desperate lust and desire, my eyes closed as my toes curled and my breath came out in pants. My rosary's beads slid across my chest, tangling with groping hands. The one solid thought I managed was that I hoped they didn't break it, that they didn't snap whatever it was within that held those beads together and send them scattering across the floor. Without thought and without hope they would be, utterly lost without a thing to hold them together, to sanity…

What was I saying? I couldn't describe beads that way, that wasn't right somehow…

I felt as if I was drowning, with so many hands stroking me and other voices joining mine with gasping breaths, sweat and saliva mixing on my skin. Somehow there was chocolate in my mouth, and piece broken off and set upon my tongue. Or had I done that myself? Were my eyes really open, while my mind went off and lost itself? Was I really moving, was I really on my feet, unable to keep track of whose lips were on my mouth now and whose dick my hand was stroking? It all became a tumultuous storm, with no room nor time nor sense for thought, nothing but the lust, the ecstasy, and the bittersweet feel of all this. It was so sweet and wonderful, the feelings of pleasure rushing through my body, and yet within me something hurt unmercifully, with all the harshness of vinegar burning down my throat.

* * *

_In that last bit, where vinegar is mentioned, I had in mind Balsamic vinegar. According to Wikipedia, the sweetness of it is meant to cover the tart flavor, and it is a "sweet and sour" vinegar._


	13. Chapter 13

_**Author's Note: **__Whoo, chapter 13! Hehe, I know, it took me a bit longer to update this time. But regardless, here it is! There are only about two chapters after this, so we are at last beginning to near the ending._

* * *

I woke feeling altogether dreadful. My eyes opened with lazy slowness, blinking in the light of…of the sun? Odd, there were no windows in headquarters. My head was throbbing with a punishing ache, and I felt far from clean. I raised my head slowly, and found myself lying on the rumpled sheets of a large bed, in a bedroom that looked very normal, if rather lavish, and it wasn't one I recognized.

"Finally awake?" Rod suddenly appeared in the doorway, walking in bare-chested to casually take a shirt from the closet. Ah, was this his room then? Was this his house?

"Where am I?" I said, my voice not exactly cheerful. It was only now that I realized I wasn't wearing any clothes.

"My house," he said. "I decided to bring you when I left headquarters for the night. I don't think the others would have left you alone otherwise. Or you them."

"Agh," I pressed my face into the pillow in disgust. It had been that bad? I couldn't even remember. "What'd I do?"

"Plenty," he said, coming over to the bedside and offering me bottled water. I felt like dumping it all over myself just to get the sticky feeling off my skin. "You didn't seem ready to stop anytime soon either."

"You drugged me didn't you?" I said, glaring at him as I sat up and gulped at the water. "Shit, how do you expect me to be respected if you have me act that way?"

"There's a lot of drugs involved in this life Mello," he said. "There was a bit of an aphrodisiac in everyone's drink. You just got more than the rest. You have to understand, it had been a hard day for all of us. Getting the men to act together for a common need is sometimes nessasary to keep them together as a family. It helps to keep unity strong."

I rolled my eyes. "You're one twisted bastard, you know that? Who ever heard of a Don making his men fuck together for the sake of unity?"

He shrugged. "You know I'm not the average Don, and my techniques have worked well enough I'd say. I've kept this family together for years, and all your trouble has been the first thing in a while to test us."

I set down the water bottle, wondering if I was going to vomit. Damn alcohol, why the hell did anyone drink it? Thanks to that and the lovely help of an added drug I'd made a complete fool of myself. It was only a small comfort to know that the other men had probably been lusting irrationally too.

"You're certainly no Italian," I said, tossing back the blankets. It felt wonderfully cool in the house, and outside I could see the sun shining through trees and a thick green lawn. It was a nice place, relaxing.

Rod chuckled. "My, my, did you just figure that out? I'm the black sheep of the mafia world, kitten. There are plenty of Dons out there who won't even ackowledge my precense, saying I'm shameful to all mafiaso. But I've made my money and I could kill any of them if I wanted; my blood doesn't matter to me."

"Where are you from then?" I said, picking up my rosay off my chest and beginning to fiddle with it. I was finding myself genuinly interested; besides, it seemed like I had some free time on my hands for the moment.

"Mexico," he said, as he picked up a pack of cigarettes from the bedside table and lit one up. "My mother was a little Incan woman, four foot nine, who worked in a cantina. My father was a Scottsman. He didn't stay around long. One night, to be exact. He was short on money, and my mother just happened to be the cheapest whore available. One night, that was all. Poof." He waved his cigarette, spreading the smoke even more thoroughly through the air. He shrugged. "Gone like that. I ended up running with the Mexican mafia before I jumped the border. I started in Arizona and gathered some men there, stayed in California a while, and then New Mexico. Before long I had another little family to myself, who ever I was able to pick up who was loyal and could handle a gun. Then we hit Vegas, worked out bribes, sent around threats. I ended up owning big stock in the casinos, and somewhere between this and that I became the Boss of the city. It's simply of my own doing that I use the names the Sicilians would. I like their style."

I didn't nodd to confirm that I'd been listening, but I had been. Huh. So Rod and I were alike in more ways than I'd thought. He took a seat upon the bed, then reached over and opened the box upon the table. From withen it he withdrew a rosary of jade beads, and my eyes widened.

"Fifteen years straight," he said. "Every Sunday, the Cathedral De Guadelupe in Tijuana. I liked to imagine I was devoted. Eventually I dropped the pretending and just got on with my life." He dropped the rosary back into the box and shut the lid again, and I frowned.

"Then why do you still have it?" I said. "You didn't throw away the beads. If you're done pretending, why isn't it gone?"

"I'm sure you could understand why," he said carelessly as he got to his feet and walked toward the door. He didn't say another word to me before he disappeared out into the hall. I couldn't imagine it being the same for him as it was for me, but of course I understood. No one can go on with nothing. When you're nearly drowning in the waves of a chaotic life, you'll cling to the first thing that can keep you afloat, that can give you the feeling of safety and protection from death. Who could suddenly let go of that security to face the waves alone?

…

Time passed quickly. Three months became four…five…six…before I knew it, eight months had passed, and I had yet to be sworn in. I had to wonder if I was doing something wrong. Yet I followed every order Rod gave me, I forced myself to be respectful, I looked out for the family, and gave Rod the best advice I possibly could. When he wanted me in his bed, fine, I'd do it. If another man in the family wanted me, I'd do that to, but I noticed that any man who wanted me went to Rod first for permission, before they came to me. It was nice enough; they asked my permission, they did have a limited respect for me, and I had all the money I could want, but…

But I had yet to become a member. It was true that Near hadn't made a move yet, and Halle was keeping me well updated on that. As a suprisingly high ranking member of FBI she had access to what was going on in governments around the world, so she would know if Near decided to seek the backing of any specific country. Had I been wrong then? Would Near just go on working from the shadows, on his own, with just the limited help from Wammy's House? But I knew he could lay claim to more power than that! I _had _to be right. Near would want Kira to know of his precense, to challenge him, to force him out!

Perhaps therein lay the reason Rod had yet to swear me in. The whole reason he had given me this chance in the first place, the temptation of obtaining Kira's killing power, had yet to gain him anything at all. And so far, I had no proof that what I'd offered him could become a reality. Near remained in hiding, Kira went on with his killing, and I had no new information.

Worse still, the situation between Rod's family and De Luca's was growing no better. There had been shootings, though no one was killed, and money, bribes, threats, and demands were flying everywhere as Rod tried to prevent the ensuing war. I was damn lucky I didn't get killed myself, if not by De Luca's family than Rod himself. Considering all the trouble I'd caused for him, it wasn't far-fetched. There were times when I just had to endure abuse for it, whether he decided to slap me around or fuck me senseless. Though the right to hurt me was his alone; none of the other men dared raise their hand against me, just as they wouldn't dare raise a hand against each other.

What kept me safe was my intelligence. Between me, Glen, and Rashual, Rod received sound advice on how to deal with the De Luca family. He was bribing them, stalling for time, hoping their rage would peter out even as he slowly began to restore command with some of his old associates. It was all bloody and dirty, but it was business, done in fine suits with expensive guns and briefcases loaded with hundred dollar bills. Though tension was high it remained a quiet affair; the police were for the most part unaware of the depth of the situation, and Rod liked it that way.

But then, as if things could not have gotten any worse for me, Halle called me one day to give me a bit of interesting information: the FBI had been tipped off that Rod's family was dealing in drugs, and was planning a search of the headquarters and investigation of every member. Of course they would find plenty of evidence against us; the headquarters was where Rod kept all such merchandise of that nature. The reason why this was bad news for me was that the most likely person to have given the FBI this information was the De Luca family, trying to run us out of the city out of spite. It would go to a court case and Rod would end up jailed along with plenty of the rest of us. Damn, he'd have it in for me if he found this out.

I didn't tell him. Of course there was no telling what day the FBI would show up, but I had to figure out a way to get us out of this. There was no way I could convince Rod to get rid of millions of dollars in drugs, and even if he did do that I'd still pay severelly for costing him all that money. I spent more time than ever locked away in my room thinking it over, desperate for a solution. The truth was there was nothing major I could do without explaining myself. I couldn't tell the family to pack and leave, we couldn't get rid of the drugs…all that was left to be done was hide them, and hide them well. All the members of the family were forbidden to have drugs anywhere on their person lest they were ever searched, so I didn't have to worry about that. I just had to manage hide what there was without getting caught.

Easier said than done. We had hundreds of pounds of marujauna and cocaine sitting in our basement. But still, I managed to come up with a plan, and over the course of severel days I painstackingly hid every last ounce. So when nine days after Halle's call two FBI agents with about a dozen police in tow showed up at headquarters, at least _I _felt perfectly prepared.

I could see the grim expressions on the others faces though, as we were searched, most of us handcuffed, and sat down for private interviews. Many of the men were jittery, but they knew what to say, and luckily none of them had been stupid enough to have anything on them. The search and interviews went on for hours, the entire day in fact. Rod could be such a polite man when he needed to be, and he fell into that role wonderfully throughout the day. He at least did not revert to the simple trick of pretending not to know English and speaking only in Spanish, as so many of the others did even when they certainly didn't look Mexican. But it got some of them out of interviews, since a translator didn't arrive until the end of the day and by that time the whole place had been searched and nothing was found.

The police and FBI bid us good night and left, though it was certain they would be keeping a closer eye on us here from now on. I remained seated on the couch, licking at a chocolate bar as the other men sat around me, some of them looking confused and thoroughly shaken. Rod came in after severel minutes, having seen our investigators out, and without hesitation he came straight over to me. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and jerked my face close to his, leaning over me as he did. An impressive show of his height indeed, and it served well enough to intimidate, though I tried to maintain an easy expression.

"Where is it?" he said, his voice even and cold. Ha! So he had suspected me from the start. He _knew _I'd been involved. Smart man Rod was. I was feeling far too pleased with myself for getting away with my little scheme, at least when it came to the investigators, so it was with a certain measure of pride that I got up off the couch and led Rod and the others toward the walk-in freezer in the kitchen. It had not been easy, I'd say that for certain, but this was where every bit of drugs was hidden. No one else would notice that of course. All the unaware would see was a ridiculous amount of bagged icecubes.

"Talk fast Mello," said Rod, when his precious drugs didn't appear instantly in front of him. I went over and reached into one of the bags of icecubes and pulled one out, then squized my way through the assembled crowd to the sink. I ran the cube under the hot water to melt it, scalding my hands a bit in the process, but in the end I got what I wanted: a tiny white capsule that had been frozen into the center of the ice. It had the size and shape of a gelatin pill capsule, save it was made of plastic, and I couldn't possible guess at what use it was intended for, but I'd been able to buy bag upon bag of them at the liquor market. I popped the little thing open upon the counter, and out spilled powdery cocaine.

"It's all perfecty safe," I said, unable to keep from smiling a bit in light of their stunned and disbelieving faces. "Would you say I did a good job Boss?"

"I'd say you're crazy," said Rod, shaking his head as he looked back into the freezer at the hundreds of icecubes there. Then he laughed softly. "It will require some explaining on your part on how you knew they were coming and why you thought it a smart thing not to tell me, but you and I can deal with that later. For now, I'm going to need five pounds of marijauna thawed out and bagged by tomorrow at noon. My client won't be pleased if he has to wait for his purchase to melt."

So I spent my night thawing out ice in the sink, slowly rebagging everything I'd frozen. I got enough done in time, luckily, but there was enough ice left still for Rod to allow more "creative" ways of melting it now that there was no longer a time limit on what had to be done. I suppose that was supposed to be my punishment for withholding information from him. Creatively or not, I had to thaw out all of the ice myself, using the sink so that I wouldn't drench the floors in water. When they weren't in the sink they were in my mouth assisting in the administration of a blowjob, or in my ass just so Rod could watch me squirm. I'd have to say _that _was one of the most uncomfortable yet arousing things I'd ever been put through, and Rod thoroughly enjoyed himself. So everything was repaid, and I gave my explanation for not having alerted him to my plots and was forgiven. In all, I think all of them had a good laugh about it, and Jack was terribly pleased to see me having to work at repackaging everything.

Though now that these headquarters were being more carefully watched, Rod was seriously considering leaving Las Vegas. The tension with De Luca was not improving, and Rod had associates in LA who were interested in doing business with him on a more personal level. Drug sales there were booming, and there was a man who wanted Rod's sponsorship to help him expand his already very succesful strip club business. It looked like there were good things in LA for us. Rod would maintain control of his casinos here and relinquish the city to the De Luca family, then have a fresh start in California with some new business ventures. In the process, we'd manage to get out from under the FBI's observation.

Rod chose a somewhat less conspicuous location for the headquarters in LA. He purchased an empty old highrise, and had it fixed up nicely much like our old place. We were moving to better things, Rod told us. We would have more money coming in and a new city to command. It was a fresh start.

It was in the late winter of 2008 that we finally made the move. Those members who had a wife and children were simply relocating; their loyalty, first and foremost, was to their mafia family, and they'd known that had to be when they joined. Rod left his old headquarters in Marcus's charge to sell, then turned his focus to making his mark on LA. There was already a family there in a LA, a small one, and they quietly stepped aside for Rod, not wanting to risk getting on his bad side. Money for drug sales poured in sometimes doubling what was put out, and we were living well.

My immediate fascination and distraction was the city itself however. My first time in California, certainly my first time LA, and I was marveling at it. It had a different feel than Las Vegas. It was dirtier, grittier, a place that was raw with the brutality of life, rather than hiding behind a mask of beauty and money. I couldn't help but find it amusing that we couldn't legally carry guns here, but had to keep them hidden in our jackets. Of course it had it's fineries, of course it had it's vain and self-obsessed inhabitants, but that made it all the better. Somehow, that made it even _realer_. The pursuit of perfection in the cosmetic surgey clinics, the desperation for belonging in the brutal street gangs, the want for something better in every run-down, slummy, hole-in-the-wall shop along the street. It was life with all it's ugliness, weaknesses, and passions. It was a rush to me, and I loved it.

I took to shopping on Rodeo, easily slipping into that even vainer state of mind that was now being fed by the new surroundings. I adored slick, sweet smelling leather hugging tight to my body and showing off my form. I loved the luxury of feathers and fur, lace-up boots and the occasional small and delicate jewel. I'd developed a special love for covering myself in crosses; around my neck, my wrist, and on my gun as well. I bought shirts with crucifixes emblazoned across the back, a vest with the Virgin Mary on its front, and I began decking out the headquarters with religious items as well. The men didn't mind; for some of them it was a comfort to see a cross upon the wall or a statue of the Virgin.

As for my personal reason for the newfound obsession, it was almost with bitterness that I did it. I still went to mass as a regular habit, I still mumbled my prayers and didn't mean a word. I still felt damned and condemned and very deserving of Hell. It was like some blasphemous way of showing my rebellion. If I couldn't get rid of this religion, then I would throw myself into it; myself, and all my sins. As I attached the cross to my gun, which I had only recently been given the privilege of carrying, I couldn't help remembering what I'd said to De Luca before I killed him.

The Angel of Death indeed. It was true enough that the Archangel Michael was considered the good Angel of Death, so perhaps it all suited me in a way.

…

July came, and with it the brutal heat of Southern California, making all my leather and feathers seem entirely vile to have anywhere near my skin. I went on wearing the leather regardless, and for the first time experienced heatstroke. That didn't stop me however. But more than just that happened in the month of July.

One evening a soldier of the family, Andrew, came into my room and told me to follow him. I didn't ask where; I suspected that Rod simply wanted to see me to discuss something. He often sent others to fetch me to him anyway. But this time it was different. Andrew led me to an upstairs room that was rarely used, and there assembled was the whole of the family, apparently waiting for me. I was somewhat uneasy, seeing them all their staring at me so grimly…had I done something wrong? Then Rashual stepped forward, as Andrew quietly stepped back among the crowd.

"Mello, our family wishes to accept you," said Rashual. "If you will swear your life's loyalty to this family first before any other and before oneself, and swear to keep only within your mind the things intrusted here, to have no secret dealings with those of government or law inforcement, to respect your brothers in the family, and to withhold no information from those assembled here lest you be named a traitor, you will be welcomed among us. Do you swear this?"

My heart had started up a rapid pace. At last, they had chosen to accept me! But I kept my voice calm. "I do swear it."

Rod stepped forward then, a knife withdrawn and in his grip. He sliced my hand across the palm, and Glen brought forward a picture, upon which I was instructed to smear the blood. It gave me chills when I realized the picture was of Saint Michael. Holding it in my hands, Rod took a lighter and set fire to it, and I tossed it back and forth between my palms as he told me to do, enduring the flames until the picture had been reduced to ash. That, he explained, symbolized the annihilation of traitors. If I was one, I was doomed just as the picture had been.

With that, I became a member of this family. I'd sworn to have loyalty to it before myself, and I'd been too enthralled with the proceedings at the time to have not meant the words. This was a first for me. This accomplishment, and the acceptance…I'd never _had _a family to accept me. My mother, yes, but only she. I'd been able to tell; that ceremony was conducted with the utmost sincerity. I even felt a little twinge of guilt, knowing that my oath of loyalty would before long become a lie.

From then on, I found myself no longer subjected to Jack's hating looks, taunting, or disrespect of any kind from the other members. None of them requested me for their pleasure, and they spoke to me as they spoke to each other. Even Rod was more respectful of me. He still reserved every right to do exactly as he pleased with me, just as he had that right over every other man in this family as their Don, but he no longer struck me in front of them, nor did he have me in his bed. There were the occasional touches, in private, but he knew the importance of keeping his family unified with dignity, and he put that before his own wants. It wasn't long before I found myself sitting in on meetings that had previously been exclusively for he, Rashual, and Glen. The four of us discussed every matter of the family, and together we grew stronger. We owned LA; no one dared cross us.

In the midst of this Halle told me about Ratt, a fellow FBI agent who was a bit lower ranking than herself. He too was interested in pursuing Kira, and as a precaution Rod and I met with him to insure that we could trust him and have his loyalty. He seemed sincere enough, and we shared with him the same plan I had shared with Halle.

…

Months passed. We waited, and our family prospered. I grew anxious, but I refused to dial Near's number. I had to be patient. He would announce himself soon, surely…

…

March 12th, 2009. The President of the United States announced the creation of the Special Provision for Kira group, the SPK. As Halle reported to me, talking in an excited voice after she announced both she and Ratt were members of the group, that the entire organization was to be led by a pale white-haired young man.

A boy who called himself "Near".

* * *

_Well I certainly don't know if you really can purchase little plastic capsules. I've never seen any. But you can buy just about anything, so…plastic capsules must be out there somewhere :)_

_The mafia initiation ceremony information was taken from Wikipedia. According to it, they really do burn a picture of a saint, and I found that quite interesting, considering the burn Mello eventually obtains and all of his religious drapings. As for him putting religious things around the hideout, quite a few times statues of Mary and crosses are seen around the building he's in with the mafia. They had to get there somehow XD. _


	14. Chapter 14

_**Author's Note: **__Here we at last begin to get into the more canon events. Now, this habit of mine may have caused the chapter to seem rushed, or in places over-simplified, but I have this problem with rewriting events that have already been seen in canon. Since most of you readers have already seen certain events happen with Mello, and how he acts during them, to me, relating them again in such a way that wouldn't be boring and that wouldn't dissolve into a complete monologue seems difficult. Basically, the point of this particular story is just "behind-the-scenes" stuff; that is, everything that wasn't seen in the mangas or anime. So events that have already been seen to happen in canon are not related here in an in-depth way :)_

_Haha, though I must say it frustrated me a great deal trying to figure out how Mello and Near found out what they did about the notebook, especially Mello. Perhaps if I'd gone back and reread every manga thoroughly I could have developed some answers, and figured out where L let information out the public and such, but that is just too much work x.x Luckily in the mangas when Near is talking to the U.S president a bit is revealed about how he discovered his information, so that made me happy :D_

* * *

The Death Note.

According to Near, this was the instrument used to by Kira to kill his victims. He had discovered information on this notebook from a police source who spotted it at the scene of the Yostuba-Kira's arrest, and heard it talked about by this 3rd Kira himself. It was said to look like a perfectly average notebook, black, with the words "Death Note" upon the front, written in English. Write a person's name in the notebook, and they die. It was as simple as that. Near was even aware of the location of the notebook. It had been taken from the scene of Higuchi's arrest by L, and, with L gone, this notebook therefore resided with the Japanese Police, with the small group of officers who had been working with L. That meant…

There were two notebooks. One with Kira, and one under lock and key with the Japanese NPA.

It was more than a relief to have this information at last, and we began making plans to get these notebooks immediately. Near and the SPK would be going after them as well, and now the final stretch of the race had begun. One of us had to reach the notebook first, and I knew well how Near would go about it. Thinking and talking. _That _would be his method, as it was just about the only thing he was capable of. He knew my own method would be significantly different, and also, doubtlessly, far more effective. What was I planning?

Kidnapping the Director of the NPA of course.

We sent some of our best men to Japan to carry this out. It wasn't so very hard to get what we wanted. Within a week our men were returning, and the NPA Director was with them. I wasn't interested in the interrogation Rod wanted to carry out; I only wanted to use the man as a bargaining chip for the notebook. We already knew where it was, so what was the point in torturing the man? But Rod insisted, so I didn't protest it. While some of the other men carried out the questioning I personally delivered the ransom notice to the NPA headquarters, via a phone call.

Ahh, so here it was, a first for me. I held so much power it was almost overwhelming. I had others skittering in fear to obey my demands. And it was so _easy_! A snap of my fingers and I could have someone killed, tortured, kidnapped, anything! I had only to ask it, and I could be on the phone with any government in the world. I was one of Rod's most trusted advisors; there was no meeting he went to, no deal he signed, without me being there.

Had this been what it felt like to L? Having this power, this influence? And I wasn't even at the top of my game yet! When I held the notebook in my hands…yes, I could imagine it now! Then I would be good enough for _anything_! I would never be second again, I would never fail again! Mihael, the avenger, the Angel of Death…

Yes, they were silly fantasies and imaginings that went along with my newfound power. I couldn't help it, I was vain. I loved to imagine myself being able to control anyone I wanted; it made me feel good even if it was childish. I still had to answer to Rod's orders, but that didn't even matter to me anymore. I was feeling what should have been mine all along, what I'd worked years for!

L had never used his power to get others killed. He hadn't abused it. True, there were times when he had slipped outside the law, just as I was. But he wouldn't have killed people. It was true enough that I had killed Tony De Luca, but I insisted to myself that had been a nessesity. That was the price of being in the mafia, and the late De Luca had known it. It was all part of the business. But I had no interest in killing the NPA director, and I told Rod so.

Only, the director still ended up dead. The wretched man committed suicide, and there went our bargaining chip.

It was so very convenient for the opposition, I had to wonder…had Kira had anything to do with his death? If he did, then my earlier suspisions were confirmed, that Kira was in the NPA, most likely in the small task force that L had worked with. But there was no time to consider that now. I needed a new ransom, and I needed it fast, before the NPA had any time to recover. Luckily we _had _gotten some useful information out of the Director. He'd given us the names of the police members on the task force, and the highest ranking among them had been Yagami Soichiro. Therefore we suspected his authority would still be in place now, even though these officers had quit their jobs with the NPA for the sake of working with L. Our research on the matter was quick and hurried, but we swiftly found a new bargaining chip.

Yagami Sayu, Soichiro's teenage daughter.

Was this kidnapping any different to me than that of the Director? No…not at first. I didn't care any more or feel any different when ordering it to be done. Sayu was even easier to capture than the Director, understandably, and I passed along the new ransom message. But when Sayu finally arrived at the headquarters, bound, gagged, terrified…I didn't like the sight of it. I hated it in fact. Of course I kept my composure, I pretended not to care. But the men were taunting her, touching her…they would have raped her, I had no doubt.

Why did it matter to me? This was a first too…the first time I'd brought an innocent into my scheme. The first time I was causing someone undeserving and uninvolved harm for my own wants. The sight of that girl weeping, confused and terrified by her captors cruel comments, the way they groped at her blouse. I turned away from it, I occupied myself elsewhere. But guilt followed me, clinging to me. It put me in mind of my mother, that kind woman who had been used herself, who had gone through her life so sad, whose son suffered even now, both of them on the account of one selfish man who had acted for his own desires and used another like a toy-

I wasn't going to be like that man. The very idea, that I could in any way be like my father, was revolting. I rejected it with everything in me. There was no avoiding that Sayu was now a pawn in my game, but that didn't mean she had to suffer any worse than she already was.

"Stop touching her!" my voice was like a shot through the room, emotion I now rarely let show coming to the surface in light of my memories. Old black and white photographs, my mother draped in his arms, smiling, happy, while he looked at her like an object to be won, used, thrown away. No! I would not have that. I had grown up detesting it, hating it with everything in me, every time I saw my mother crying in her room, every time she choked up when reading the letters "from my father" that she had written herself for my own comfort. My hands were shaking, everything in me wanting to explode out of sheer anger and remembered hurt.

But no. I was quiet, I was calm. I walked over to Sayu, who cringed from me, and pulled her to her feet, my grip harder than it needed to be on her arm. I led her away, and let the others think what they would of me. I heard their grumbled comments; yes, go ahead, think I want her for myself.

I simply took her to my room, and my harshness with her was only because I wished she would just stop crying. I couldn't stand the tears, they tormented me, the way she tried to hide them behind her hands when faced with my anger. Damn, it was just like my mother, I could never make her stop crying either, not for long, and she cried for so many years and years until it grew too much and she-

I just left the room. I let Sayu cry herself out where at least she was safe from the bastards downstairs, while I sat against the wall and cursed the world for a while. I'd thought I was long past angsting over my mother's death. Heh, yeah right. I still carried the damn rosary after all. I wasn't over it. It still haunted me, that I hadn't been enough to save her.

I left Sayu locked in my room, not that she could have gone anywhere with all of us close by anyway. I trudged back down stairs, in a sour mood, still swearing about it. "Damn girl…all her fucking tears," were my words upon coming back downstairs to where we had our main computers and couches. Most of the men were gathered here, and Rod smirked as he heard me.

"Haha, they all cry," he said, as I took a seat upon one of the couches and pulled my chocolate bar out of my pocket. "You get used to it, there's just no reasoning when it comes to virgins. You cried too."

I glared at him furiously, but didn't bother with any denials, save that, "I didn't cry." And as far as I remembered I certainly hadn't.

The events that followed over the next few dozen hours went quickly and chaotically, but perfectly my way. Sayu was transported out to another location where the trade for the notebook would take place, and everything was prepared and ready.

Just watch me surpass you Near.

It was perfection in every way. Extravagant, yes, but perfect. I loved every moment of it. The notebook was relinquished, it was tested…it was true! The victim fell dead just behind me. Unbelievable…impossible…but it was real. And when, at last, I held that notebook in my hands, it was as if I was beholding all the riches of the City of Gold. I could hardly believe it, that I was really holding it, I really had it…

I'd beaten Near.

We read through the rules, and we tested the them. We discovered the thirteen day rule was a lie, but why? Why would that be put there? _Who _would put it there? This notebook could not possibly be anything scientific, it had to be supernaturel. So where had it come from? How had it gotten here? And how were we to get the second notebook, the one we had now confirmed to be in Kira's possesion, as his executions were continuing?

It was a power rush like no other. Perhaps I could understand how Kira had become what he was. Perhaps I too could feel the draw of this thing, this notebook, the way it begged to be touched even as it sat upon a table, or yards away from me in Rod's hands as he examined it. I had yet to even use it myself, but I felt that temptation. Just try it…just try it _once_…

One night, I crept out of bed to take the thing from its locked case, sitting in the couch staring at it by the light of the security monitors. It was still murder. It was an easier method of murder certainly, as one didn't have to be there to witness the life taken away, and you could make one die however you liked. You could make it gentle, swift, and painless, or you could make it agonizing and slow. But it was still killing, and the way in which this instrument allowed one to play God…even now I was sure no human could have that right, to judge others in this way and administer "divine" punishment. It was all just murder on a massive scale. Yet I was sitting there with a pen in my hand and a little slip of paper in front of me, on which I'd written the names of the agents working in the SPK. Why was I considering this?

Heh, why not? I'd called Near up before just to say "fuck you". This was simply a stronger way of saying that. And I was so curious, curiosity burned in me with unbearable temptation. There had to be something about this notebook that made every human want to try it…just once…

I didn't kill all of them. Of course it would have been perfectly fair of me if I did, but if I left only Halle then Near would know she was the informant. It was just a way of covering my own trail, I told myself. It was nessasary.

Indeed, it was so much simpler. I felt nothing as I wrote down those names. Absolutely nothing.

…

Three days later, Near called my cell pone.

I hadn't expected it at all. When I pulled my vibrating phone out of my pocket and saw the number I started a bit. Why on earth was he calling me? If we'd already agreed not to work together – and I certainly had agreed to that – then what was the point in this? Surely he had to know that I wasn't going to just _give _him information about the Death Note. And…and this couldn't be about _them_,those members of the SPK I'd written into the notebook, who would have died days ago. Near wouldn't bother to call about that would he? I'm sure he suspected me, along with Kira, but what could he possibly say on the matter?

I hadn't talked to him in…how long had it been? Nearly four years…the last time had been right after Rod and I…right after things truly changed.

I pressed the talk button, and brought the phone up to my ear. "Yeah?" I said, and my tone of voice was cold and calm, the kind of tone that accompanied eyes narrowed in a glare. It was the way I tended to speak during business meetings. "What is it?"

"Mello," the same voice I'd always known spoke back to me. Utterly unchanged by age. "I received your message."

Message? What message? I hadn't sent him anything. Was he referring to the deaths of the other SPK members? "Did you? That's good."

"Good for you, yes," he said, and his voice was strange, as if he was trying especially hard to figure something out. "I would like to meet with you soon Mello. I want to see…I would like to understand something better."

Rod was giving me a questioning look, and I shrugged my shoulders at him. I hardly knew the point of the call anymore than he did. "I won't give you any information Near," I said. "I got to the notebook first. It's your loss, you just weren't good enough." Ah, how good it felt to say those words to him! "What's the point in us meeting?"

"I will not question you about the notebook," he said. "I simply want to understand. I don't want to forget you Mello."

It would have seemed an almost romantic thing to say, coming from anyone else. But Near's voice was so even and emotionless it took all such fluffy feelings out of it. I frowned. "When? And where?"

"Are there others hearing this conversation besides you and me?"

"No," I said, and it was the truth. The phones here weren't bugged.

"Very well. Tomorrow you will receive a plain envelope in the mail, addressed to 'M'. I would appreciate it if you were the only one to look at the contents of that envelope, but of course I can not stop you from showing it to others. Within the envelope will be a piece of paper on which a phone number is written. Call the number, and a robotic system will answer and ask for a password. You are to respond with 'Ole Kirk Christiansen'. If your voice and the password are properly confirmed, you will then be given a date, time, and address. Be prepared to copy it down immediately, as it will only repeated once, and the number can not be called again. I must also request that you do not bring any of your…cohorts…with you. Though you may hate me Mello, I know you understand why these security procedures are nessasary."

"Of course," I said, waving my hand dismissively though he couldn't see it. "But what the hell is with the bizarre password?"

"Oh," he said. "It is the name of the man who created LEGOs."

I couldn't help laughing. "I should have figured. You're never going to grow up are you?"

"Good-bye then Mello." _Click! _went the other line, and Near was gone just like that. Well. I guess that was a "no".

…

Everything went as Near had said. The following day I received the envelope in the mail, which carried the phone number I was to call. I called it, gave the ridiculous password, and quickly jotted down the given date, time, and place. For a few moments my mind mused upon the idea of the phone doing the whole "this phone will self-destruct in 10…9…8…", but of course, it didn't do that.

Shit, Near. Why did he have to be all the way in New York? And he wanted me there by the next day at 3pm. Agh, what did he think I could do, just buy an expensive plane ticket on short notice and fly to New York that easily?

Well…certainly he did. Because I most certainly _could_, and it still thrilled me to know that. I had always wondered what it would be like to just buy a short notice plane ticket and fly off somewhere for a day. Call it ridiculous, but I loved it.

I'd convinced Rod that I was the most trustworthy person to carry the notebook, so I had it under my shirt as I arrived in New York around midnight that night. I'd told Rod I was going to see an old friend, and he hadn't questioned me. I got myself a hotel close to where I was supposed to meet Near, in a highrise right in the midst of the city. I supposed the whole building must belong to the SPK. When I went close to it early the next morning to inspect its entrance I found the doors locked and saw no one within. There was a small pad for a number password beside the doors however. Bullet-proof glass too, if my eyes and the sound of my fingers tapping upon it didn't decieve me. And there were security cameras everywhere.

A building perfectly designed to keep people out…people like me, specifically.

No matter. I'd be in in just a few hours, and I'd see what Near wanted with me. I was really questioning his motives this time. Since he was part of an offical government organization it wasn't as if he could do the whole "capture and torture" thing, and he had to know I wasn't just going to talk on my own. What was it then? What was this nonsense about "not wanting to forget me"?

…

I spent the hours leading up to our meeting primping. Although I never would have said the word aloud in reference to myself, it's what I was doing. I wanted to present an impressive personage after all these years. I'd grown up, and I'd been well off for some time now. I didn't want to leave one last thought in Near's mind that I had made a "foolish" decision, or that I was struggling. That was all behind me, and I wanted it to be obvious. I got my nails done and painted shiny black , a new habit I'd developed, so they matched the leather pants I wore. A tight leather vest accompanied the pants, along with knee high lace-up boots with white dragons stitched into the leather on the sides. Then oversized black sunglasses, which I'd picked up a liking for in California. To complete it I put a single silver band around my first finger, my rosary of course, a few extra cross-adorned necklaces, and a white belt with a thick buckle.

Damn right, the world better look at me!

3pm grew ever closer, and then it was upon me, and I was walking down the street from my hotel. Even here in New York a path cleared for me, people conciously or subconciously just making way. I was certainly feeling impressive, especially since the two inch thick soles on my boots had put me up to five foot eight inches, a height I was much more pleased with than my real one.

As I approached the building where I was to meet Near, I noticed a dark haired young man in a nice suit standing just outside the doors, looking about as if waiting for someone to arrive. I walked straight up to him, and he took a slightly startled step back as he saw me coming up so suddenly, before he quickly recovered himself.

"Ah," he said. "You must be Mello. Near said I'd know you when I saw you." He looked me up and down a moment, clearly with distaste.

"Yeah, yeah," I waved my hand at him. "So where is the little freak?"

"I'll take you to him," he said, turning to input a password to open the doors. I watched him carefully, memorizing the numbers he'd put in. "I'm Gevanni. One of the…few investigators left on this team."

He gave me a hateful glare as he opened the door, and I smirked back. "Gevanni then. Don't go hating me just because I play the game with a little more passion than your boss does."

He looked as if he wanted to hit me, and the look I gave him back dared him to do so. But he controlled himself, and led me inside the cool building. There were no furnishings within, not on this floor anyway. Just a hallway leading back to an elevator, and it was toward that we headed, our footsteps echoing on the tile.

"Do you - " he cut off, hesitating in his question, but then with a rather frustrated sound continued. "Do you have any weapons on you?"

"No," I lied, flat-out, and he knew it. "Are you going to frisk me?"

He looked away from me, pressing the button for the elevator. "I was given strict orders that you were not to be searched," he said tensely.

"So how is it, working for a little boy?" I said, just feeding his frustration for amusement's sake. We stepped into the elevator, and he pushed the button for the 5th floor.

"I feel that it is an honor to be working with Near," he said, straightening his posture a bit. "It is an honor to be of assistance in bringing down Kira. And he is certainly an extremely intelligent young man to be working for."

He gave me a sideways glance as he said that. Oh, looking for a reaction was he? Well he wouldn't get it. I endured the pricks his words inflicted on my pride with utter silence, not giving the slightest hint of a reaction.

The elevator stopped its ascent, the doors sliding open with a soft chiming sound. Before us was a very average looking living room, with the kind of cliché decorations and color patterns that one would expect to find in a hotel, not a home of any kind. No one else was in sight.

"Get out," said Gevanni, and though his words were short they weren't said rudely. "He'll be waiting for you." I nodded, and moved to step out of the elevator, but his hand snapped out and caught me suddenly by the collar. He jerked me close to him, and my whole body tensed up for a fight.

"Listen to me," he hissed. "Don't think I won't be watching. If you so much as raise a finger against him, I'll be here. I'm not afraid to use deadly force." He opened his jacket a bit, revealing the gun tucked inside it, just to prove his point. Then he let me go, I stepped out, and the elevator doors closed.

Bastard.

There was no one in this room, but there was a bedroom adjacent to it, and I could hear soft sounds from within. I didn't hurry, but instead simply took my time to look about. Cliché reprints of old Renaisance style paintings upon the walls, in fancy polished wood frames. Hideous wallpaper, a greenish floral print. Boring lamps, and basic cream colored furniture. Then I began to notice the other things. Toys abandoned here and there. A few little army men upon the couch, a Transformer beneath the coffee table. A rubix cube, a pack of cards, legos, and a puzzle box.

None of it was surprising, and yet I wasn't feeling so calm anymore.

I proceeded toward the bedroom, breathing easy and slow, forcing myself to relax. Damn, it had been four years since I saw him last! How old was he now? Seventeen? I was now nineteen myself, but damn, I could hardly believe it. Near, almost an adult? In age maybe, but surely not in body or personality.

I walked through the bedroom doorway, wondering what I would find. Again, the room was simple, hotel-like, and to me, boring and ugly. But that was Near for you. The bed was one of those stiff kinds with the thin blankets that looked too rigid to be soft, and there was a bathroom off to the side. Between it and myself, crouched upon the floor stacking up a tower of dice, was a white haired boy, looking exactly as I remembered him.

Near hadn't changed.

* * *

_I think it can be seen throughout the mangas that Mello doesn't like to involve innocents in his plan, most specifically with his behavior toward Mr. Yagami, his insistence upon not wanting to kill Soichiro or Sayu, and his apology to Mr. Yagami in volume 9 page 69. (And of course, his later apology to Matt for getting him killed.) I simply can't make myself view Mello as totally brutal, and besides, it adds more to his character when he isn't :D_

_Chapter 15 shall be coming soon!_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Author's Note: **__Chapter 15, the last chapter! After this, there is only the epilogue. And I've been so terribly lazy lately putting up these chapters ,but I've been crazy busy._

* * *

It was not simply that Near had not grown. In no way had his body matured either. Even here at seventeen he was just as baby-faced as before. Yet, I couldn't find it surprising. This was Near; he was _supposed _to look that way.

And what about myself? There were no mirrorfs close by and I had not recently looked at myself with the eye of one who was searching for changes from long ago. How would Near see me now? Was I more impressive, which was the image I had hoped to achieve with all my ridiculous preparation and preening? Or did I look the same, as he did, like a child wearing a man's clothes?

Surely not the latter.

Near said nothing at first, but he knew I was there, I could tell. He'd known when I entered the room, for I'd seen the subtle twitch of his head in my direction, a naturel human response to another's presense. Yet he'd resisted that instinct. His eyes stayed glued on his work, and when I'd entered it had been his head alone that turned. His eyes avoided me as if he were determined that he shouldn't see me.

I sighed heavily, a bit impatient. "Near, what do you want?" I said. "I came all the way over here, to freezing cold New York, and you can't even say a word when I walk in the room?"

Near turned to me slowly, and this time his eyes came with him. He looked especially small crouched there on the floor as I stood over him. He gazed up at my face, twirling a lock of his hair around his finger. "Mello is…different," he said slowly, after a few more moments of silence. But still I could gain no insight from his voice; whether he was pleased with the changes he saw or otherwise. Not that I cared in the least what his opinion of me was.

"That can't honestly be all you called me here for," I said. "Of course I've changed. That's what normal people do as they get older. What do you really want Near? Is this about the notebook?"

"It is about Mello," he said, and got to his feet. Even now he still looked uncertain as he stood, like he wasn't quite sure he could manage that first step. He eyes flickered away from me, off to the side. "I am aware that you had the other members of the SPK killed. Ever since that occurred, I have wondered what it was that drove you. I do not suspect it could be the same motives that drove Kira. No, for you…" He glanced at me so very briefly. "You are still angry, aren't you? You haven't changed inside. You still are wearing religious beads."

I frowned. "So what? How do you even know it was me who killed anyone? What if it was Kira?"

"No," he said, and walked past me out into the living room again, where he collected the Rubik's cube and settled himself once again on the floor, simply folding down into place with ease. I followed, then flopped down upon the couch and propped my feet up on the coffee table. Near went on speaking. "It was not Kira. The men were killed with selection and not everyone was destroyed, but you know already." Already he had two sides of the cube solved. "We both know what has and has not been done and who was involved with it. There is no point in such an argument, and I do not wish to bicker with you."

"That's unavoidable."

He paused just for a moment, and I fancied that perhaps he was irritated. But he went on, calm as ever. "I know that we are rivals and that is the way it must be, and I have come to believe that may be the best way for our goals to be accomplished. If we are to compete against each other, things are still bound to get done. Whether we steal information from each other or get it ourselves, we are still accomplishing what needs to be accomplished. However, Mello, this can only work if our goals are similar. In the beginning it was you and I both wishing to be chosen by L, then it was you and I both wishing to prove ourselves worthy of _being _L. I am wondering now…who you are. We have both changed, in different ways, and you…" He stopped, turning over the Rubik's cube in his hands. He'd almost solved it all, but two sides remained scrambled. Somewhere in his twisting he had miscalculated, and now at the end of the puzzle there was no way to repair that error save to start again. He put the cube down in disgust, and I pulled my chocolate from my pocket.

"Just say it Near," I said. "I confuse you. That's the word you're looking for, and I'm sure you hate to say it." I chuckled softly. "You aren't _supposed _to understand me. As offensive as it may be to you to not be able to solve something," I tapped the Rubik's cube with my foot, "You're only human. Not everything is going to fall perfectly into your logical pattern."

"Mello-"

"And that's the problem with you," I went on, overjoyed to at last be able to say this, to have discovered something wrong in him, to be seeing the flaw. "You think and think. It's all you can do. You can _plan_ and _calculate_. You can _solve_. Because you're used to working with puzzles, and you're just going to have to get it someday; the whole world isn't your puzzle. Everything won't always fit so wonderfully together. That's why you're confused. Because things simply won't fit, will they?" I settled myself more comfortably onto the couch, smiling smugly as I snapped off a piece of chocolate.

"Indeed," he said. "You're right. It won't fit. However I am sure there is a way everything can be solved, but what it would require…" he brushed his fingers lightly over the Rubik's cube. "That is where you and I must disagree. There is always a reason, there is always a solution. But sometimes the problem is simply too _stubborn_ to be solved." At last, his voice took on the slightest frustrated tone. "Sometimes the problem is too choatic, sometimes something unexpected will arise. A problem within a problem, if you will."

"Oooh," I shook my head. "Am I really that difficult for you Near? I'm flattered, really." I wished he would look at me, give me a glare or something. But he just kept staring at the floor. In all truth, this little dialogue could not have possibly been the reason he called me here. He wasn't getting to the point, and it was beginning to irritate me.

But then, just as I was about to tell him to hurry up about it so I could leave, he turned to look straight at me and said, "Are you my enemy Mello?"

For all the weight of that look, he averted his eyes once again terribly quickly, as if he simply wasn't comfortable seeing me. I thought over his question for several moments, then replied, "I'm not your ally."

"I know that," he said. "But…does that mean you are an enemy as well? Do you consider yourself my enemy? I had never thought so before, but after you killed the other members of the SPK, I have been wondering just what you were trying to say by that."

Ha! I hadn't been "trying to say" anything of importance. It had been an immature stunt really, one done on a whim and out of emotion, just as _everything_ that I did was done. But I wasn't quite comfortable telling him that. I didn't want to think I thought nothing of the situation we were in. I realized the seriousness of it very well. But I wasn't the type who could always stay cold and logical. That wasn't me, and surely he knew that.

"I am working against you, so long as you are in my way," I said. "Otherwise, we are two separate beings, working alone. If we happen to fall into each other's plan, if we happen to become victims of each others whims, then that is simply how it goes." I paused then, and grinned. "Isn't that so very logical of me Near? So very business-like?"

"It is," he said, and I heard the suspicion in his voice. "But it is not you."

"Hell no, it's not me. Near, you _know _we're enemies, you've known that for years. I think what you're trying to ask is would I destroy you. Would I kill you, sabotage you? Am I out to bring you down as much as build myself up? I think you're just realizing, now that you're finally out in the world, the extent to which others will go for victory. Of course you've studied, of course you've been educated and you've read all the stories and files and watched all the videos. Of course you've heard L speak about his exploits. But Near, honestly, how much did you learn about all this in that sheltered house?"

His voice was quiet, cold and calm again. " How much did I learn about the world for what it was, and how it truly felt to be in it? Very little. But I have realized it all now, and seen it, and felt what it is like to see the bloody corpse in person, where I could reach out and touch the dead flesh if I so wished. Thanks to you, now I have seen what it is like when a man raises a gun to his head and shoots himself. I know what that looks like and I can picture it very vividly."

"What do you think of it?"

"It is interesting…and different. It…._hurts_," he said the word as if he wasn't sure he was using it right. "And I am afraid."

I smiled slowly. "Afraid of what?"

"I am afraid of you. I was naïve and thought 'Mello is good', but you are like those people who we would read about in crime reports. Yet, you are like the victim too." He frowned, then gave a quick sigh of frustration. "You must see that this is angering me. Since I have spent all these years thinking I was solving the problem, yet now when I come to the conclusion it is incomplete." He pushed the Rubik's cube with his hand, sending it tumbling across the floor. "I know I have missed something very important. I thought that perhaps if I could have you close again and hear the way you talk then it would be like it was at Wammy's House, and I would be able to see my error and fix the problem here at the end. But that is lazy, and impossible. I can't do it. The problem is at the beginning. I would have to take apart the puzzle and start again with nothing. And in life that can't be done. I cannot take apart my life and go back. Your answer eludes me still. It…it is your emotion….if perhaps I could have found some pattern in it, from the beginning…"

"Why do you care Near?" I said, and got to my feet to pace a bit. "Why do you give a damn how I work so suddenly? Shouldn't you be caring more about how _Kira _works?"

"This has to do with Kira," he almost whispered. "I know I can bring him down. I _know _that. But to be succesful, Mello must…be involved somehow. There is something I am not seeing, and you are a part of it. You are an important piece."

I laughed, but my laughter had a sharp edge to it. "Don't count me as a piece of your puzzle Near. I'm not just a toy in your little world. This isn't your game." I gave him a smile, flashing my canines toward him. Not that he saw it, as his eyes were still on the floor. It was beginning to irritate me. Just look at me already, damn it! It had always been that way! Not looking at me, not reacting; what was wrongwith him? Ha, but I_ had _gotten him to react hadn't I? He'd summoned me here, and that, for him, was a strong reaction. I defied his logic, I shunned his careful planning. I was the one-in-a-million who broke the cliches and the rules.

"This game is the only thing we'll ever do together Near," I said. "It's my game, and yours too. _Both _of ours. So you don't make all the rules. But even if you did, I don't play fair anyway." I crouched down in front of him, seeing the subtle tensing of his body though he still didn't look at me. I took his chin between my fingers, and wondered how long it would take for Gevanni to get up here. Mere seconds? Probably. So I had no real time to play, but I could be quick enough and – I was sure – still leave Near even more confused about me. That's what I wanted. Near could go on wondering and he would never be able to make me fit his perfect little puzzle.

I captured his mouth with my own, though had I paused to really consider the idea I would have despised it. But this was not a kiss of desire, this was forceful, this was me using every bit of skill I had to _force _him to react to me. His eyes were wide open, staring, looking frightened more than anything else. I didn't close my eyes and savor the moment; no, I stared right back. I bit at his lip and saw the pain flicker through his eyes. But that was enough. I broke away from him, rising lithely up to my feet and walking briskly to the elevator, just as its doors were opening and Gevanni appeared with his gun drawn.

"My, my, calm down mother, your little boy is fine," I said, simply brushing past him.

"Gevanni, it is alright," said Near softly, and the man looked between he and I in confusion, then at me with desperation. He wanted so terribly to shoot me, or punish me in some way, I could tell. But Near's words kept him back, and I gave the two of them a quick two-finger salute as the elvator doors slid shut.

…

Events were moving by quickly. I left New York and went back to LA the next morning, and that very day I managed to get President Hoope on the phone. I couldn't be sure what Near would do, now that he'd admitted his fear of me, and he'd mentioned how I'd killed his group with selection…did he suspect then that I had an informant among those who lived? Knowing him, he probably did. Now that he was so unsure of me he may try to cut off my access to his information. Would he lie to the other members so that I would be fed false information? I couldn't be sure, but from then on I'd have to be wary of the information given to me by Halle. However, I still wanted to be able to track the SPK and what they were up to, and that was where the president came in. Not only that, but our little stunt to get the notebook involving the missile had seriously taxed our finances. My demands to President Hoope were simple really, and it was an even trade I'd say. Once my family had brought down Kira and taken his notebook as well, that notebook would go to the president. In exchange, he had to provide us with amnesty from the law, funding, weapons, and use of the satellite cameras. Of course he didn't want to, but he had no choice. It was that, or, his name would be written in the notebook, and he would be controlled by it to launch a nuclear strike before he died.

And just like that, I had the backing of the president just as Near did.

But I was about to receive even more support, in the form of a Shinigami who had originally owned the notebook. Odd as it was, it was true. I'd been suspecting it of course. I'd known the notebook was supernaturel and probably demonic. But no one ever really expects to see a demon appear in front of them. It was altogether unnerving, when the odd Shinigami appeared right in our headquarters, shy and nervous as he was. It was the last thing I'd expected. I almost felt like asking him if he was going to take our souls now, or something of the like. But no. The simple fellow just wanted his notebook back, and while the others panicked over the fact that they couldn't kill him, I could think only of how Shidoh the Shinigami would come in useful.

Of all things, I now found myself with a demon at my command. At this point, it was simply laughable. As if I couldn't possibly have sunk any farther. I had damned myself to Hell a thousand times over, and it wasn't looking as if my rebellion was going to stop any time soon. What was next? A deal with the devil himself? Would Lucifer now appear before me? I could so perfectly imagine him saying something conversational; after all the odd things that had happened it didn't seem far fetched. "Hey Mihael, you've done a damn good job being an evil little prick, mind if I join you?"

I was almost waiting for it.

I had to wonder if, after all this was over, my life could ever be normal again. Was that possible? I'd taken everything so far…was there no turning back now? I couldn't even be sure if I _wanted _a normal life. I liked this way I was living, it thrilled me. I was still breaking the rules just as I'd always done, and I was loving it more than ever. I was loving the power. In some ways, this reminded me of those days in Piran when I was little, coming and going as I pleased through the town, climbing up on rooftops to watch the sunset just because I could. It was freedom, pure and simple, in every way…

In almost every way. I still wore the rosary, and I didn't fancy the idea of letting it go. I was quite sure I would die with it still hanging around my neck.

…

That kiss I'd given Near had been the first time I'd kissed anyone in months. Rod no longer requested me as his toy, and nor did the other men. I had been pleased with that, at first, but after a while I realized masturbation didn't do for me what it used to. It just wasn't as fun anymore, or nearly as satisfying. I'd tasted what was even better, and now nothing else would satisfy. I was competly spoiled, that was the problem.

I didn't like leaving headquarters much, in order to keep myself safe, so it wasn't as if I could frequent nightclubs and get laid that way. And then, after an attack was launched against us by a special squad sent by the government – so much for amnesty – we had to move away from where we'd been staying. Rod purchased an old lot over run with weeds, that was still occupied by a factory that was no longer in use. He had the factory gutted and cleaned up a bit, then had much of his décor relocated there. It was not nearly as lavish nor luxorious as our previous arrangement, and our living quarters would be significantly smaller, but none of us were complaining. We were safer there, for the time being, and we rarely risked going out. We knew people would be watching for us, waiting to track us back to where we were now hiding. Even with Sidoh on our side, we couldn't risk being found out.

So when it came down to it, I had little choice but to pleasure myself. It was not as if Rod was going to lend me his whores, and I certainly wasn't going to _ask _anyone for their cooperation in fulfilling my needs. I could handle it myself just fine, even though when it was over I still found myself wanting something more intense.It was embaressing really, just one more way in which I was my own slave. First a slave to my emotions, and now to my sex drive.

I was doing it in front of the mirror one day, having stepped out of the shower still wanting more and frustrated at myself that I couldn't manage something better. At that point I was just trying to get it over with quickly, my eyes closed as I leaned against the counter in the steamed up bathroom. I didn't even bother to open them when I felt a rush of cool air, as if the door had been opened, and someone's hands stroking across my shoulders. Rod?

I paused in what I was doing, slowing. Yes, it was definitely the Boss, and I could smell the tequila on his breath. He gripped my hair tightly, bending me further over the counter, and took both my wrists and held them captive in his hand.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" he said. "I've been noticing you were in a bitchy mood lately. Is this your problem then?" I groaned softly as he pressed against me. He'd stopped me at such an inconvenient point, leaving me still desperate.

"Shit, just do it!" I snarled out from between clenched teeth. If he just toyed with me for too long I'd have to stop him, because really I couldn't allow this sort of thing anymore, not when I was already such a valuable part of this family.

"Ah, you're impatient then. Fine." He let go of me, instead moving his one hand to cradle my chin and the other hand to unbutton his pants. "If you want to be taken dry I don't care. But I want you to watch your face. So open your eyes." He shook my head a bit, and my eyes opened slowly. I didn't like seeing my reflection, the way he stood so tall over me….it was humiliating. "I want to remind you, kitten. You wouldn't even be a part of this if it wasn't for me. So keep your eyes open, and watch the way you look as I fuck you."

The pain was awful at first, as it usually was, and I had to watch myself wince and squirm at the discomfort. It was bad enough to simply to be aware that I was doing such things, but to watch it was worse. Yet I didn't protest. I watched my breathing grow heavier, the way my mouth opened with each gasp as my head arched back. I could see the sweat on my skin, and the lustful look in my eyes, eyes that were fighting against fluttering closed. Rod kicked my legs farther apart, forcing me to lean more heavily upon the counter, my fingers splayed as they could find little traction on the smooth surface, as his hand left my face to jerk me off. Damn, this was what I looked like? I hardly knew this face in the mirror. But the voice…heh, the voice I knew. I expressed myself vocally only in soft cries and vicious curses; one who heard me would probably think I was more angry than anything else. And maybe in some distant part of my mind, I _was _angry. But in that moment the only thing that I truly felt was the pleasure, and everything else was forgotten. When I was brought to this point, where the final pleasure was so close that my eyes were rolling back in my head and my whole body was shuddering, nothing else mattered save finishing it.

But when it was over at last, I was glad to find myself still able to keep my feet. I rested a moment, while Rod said something about me still being "bratty and demanding", but within about a minute I was able to straighten and collect my towel. It pleased me that I didn't feel as if I was simply going to collapse and sleep this time, and I got myself dressed and went back out to join the other men as they discussed plans and ideas. We all knew that eventually we'd be found here as well and come after, but we'd better ready. And if our pursuers defied the odds and we weren't prepared…well, I for one still had my own plans, the ones I didn't tell to Rod nor anyone else.

After all, it seemed I was bound to eternally be a contrary man. The rules, I broke them. I slept with men, I murdered, I stole. Hell, I even wore leather in the middle of a Southern California summer. There was no way I was ever going to allow myself to be told what to do and just endure it. No. Sooner or later, those who thought little of me, or disrespected me, or tried to control me…I would surpass them all. They'd find themselves face to face with the Angel of Death, a blond man who would whisper a prayer as he raised the gun and took the shot.

Now _that _was my kind of justice.

* * *

_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I made him kiss Near. It was a kiss of hatred, I assure you. By this time I was really getting low on patience for this story and the kiss enabled me to end the scene effectively. Ack, I miss writing MattxMello terribly ;.;_

_Anyway, in the scenes with Near the Rubik's cube wasn't just meant to represent the puzzle Near can't solve in Mello himself. It also represents the Kira case. Near did everything right up until the end, and by that time it was too late to go back. If it hadn't been for Mello's actions at the end of the case, Near would have died, because somewhere in the beginning he miscalculated. Hehe, deep and meaningful symbolism of the day: a Rubik's cube._

_Near admits to being scared of Mello in volume 9, page 119._

_The epilogue shall be up quite soon. _


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

_Because I am undisciplined, forgive me Lord._

Undisciplined indeed. I'm a perfect example of a wild child, using the world as my playground. Unceasingly a rebel, simply because no one can tell me "no".

_Because I am weak, forgive me Lord._

Ha! Weak. Though…perhaps in ways I am that. I am not always so in control of myself as I wish I was. My emotions still rule me, they still decide my every move. I am still so uncertain, and I still doubt myself.

_Because I am impure, forgive me Lord._

I'm not quite sure how I could destroy my purity any further. Let's see, what haven't I done yet…I could – oh, no, I've done that already. I could – wait, nope, I did that in Vegas…

_Because I am arrogant, forgive me Lord._

I carry my head high, I talk down to others. And why not? I _know _I'm better than them. Why shouldn't I act like it?

_Because I am self-centered, forgive me Lord._

The world revolves around me and my wants. Of course it _shouldn't_, but to me it does. Every living creature in the world thinks often of itself. Maybe I simply think of myself a bit more often than some other people do.

_Because I am insincere, forgive me Lord._

My prayers, my oaths…every one has been insincere for years. I'd rather not call it lying – lying is such a detestable thing, Near does it all the time. No, it's only…not being…sincere. Which, if you think about it hard and twist it the right way, is different from being untruthful.

_Because I am judgmental, forgive me Lord._

But I cannot help that. I suppose being judgmental goes with being arrogant. You think yourself better, so therefore you have to think _something _of those you're better than, and those things you think certainly won't be complimentary.

_Because I am unfaithful, forgive me Lord._

I never find myself praying when I'm content. Ever. Once upon a time I did, but that was years ago. And it's not simply to my religion that I am unfaithful. I am unfaithful to this "family" of mine, this mob. I have no attachment to them, no bond. I am with them so long as we can work together effectively. Just so long as I need them.

_Because I am disobedient, forgive me Lord._

I am the very _definition _of disobedient. Go ahead, look it up. You should see my name right there in the dictionary.

Disobedient: 1. _adjective_ Not obedient. 2. _noun _Mello.

It's not there? Well then your dictionary sucks.

_Because I am unloving, forgive me Lord._

At one time I loved someone. I loved my mother with everything in me, because she was all I had. What is the point in looking for someone to love now? I have no interest in it. My love is this thrill, this challenge. My love is the game Near and I are playing.

_Because I am sinful, forgive me Lord._

But you wouldn't have me any other way, now would you?

_Amen._

…

November 27, 2009

A lot can change in so little time.

One day I discover my mother has committed suicide and I'm whisked off to some orphanage for geniuses. The next I'm being told my idol is dead and it's time to take his place…but no, I wasn't chosen. Then so suddenly it is the streets, living alone with nothing. Then it is London, and things have gotten a little better. Then it is Las Vegas, and suddenly I am corrupt. I am a prostitute and a killer and I carry a gun on my belt even while I pray in church. Then it is Los Angeles, where I live in luxury with all the money I could want. The game goes fierce and fast in constant competition, with me acting on sudden whims and Near with careful planning. And then…

Things truly do come full circle. For hear I am with nothing again, having destroyed all that I did have, for the sake of my own get away. I have found that perhaps there really is some curse connected to the ceremony I went through when I was sworn into the family. It was said traitors would be destroyed and a picture of saint Michael was burned…and now, here I am, a traitor to every one of them, and half my face has been eternally scarred by fire.

I have lost my money, my connections, and the notebook. All I have left is my cell phone. I've already used it well, to contact the last hope I have. The last hope that, even though I betrayed him, wouldn't betray me.

Maybe I should reconsider the "unfaithful" aspect of my personality.

For the first time in years I am feeling ever so slightly anxious. It's nothing extreme. It's just enough to make my fingers twirl my cross as I sit on the corner bench, my foot tapping lightly against the pavement. He'd said he would meet me here, where was he?

A Camaro pulled up to the curb, the rolled up windows tinted. I glared at it, taking in the nice paint job and the chrome rims. Surely this wasn't…

I got up from my seat, going around to the driver's side window. I knocked on it and it slowly rolled down, letting a puff of cigarette smoke out in my face.

"I honestly don't know why you pulled me over, officer," said a joking voice from within the car. "I didn't hit more than 120 on the highway."

"Matt, you're an idiot. Move over, I'm driving. You're twenty minutes late."

"Well, pardon me, baby," he said, and looked up at me with that same old crooked grin of his. His eyes were hidden behind ridiculous chrome goggles with orange lenses, yet somehow his whole ensemble of those with his shock of red hair, stripes, and fluff all went together. He opened the door, stepped out of the car…

And he was shorter than me. By at least an inch. I could have smiled, I was so happy to see that. But I kept my expression neutral, saying only, "You're short."

He rubbed his hand through his hair, fluffy it out in all directions. "Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in." He shrugged, seeming to hardly car. "Well go on, take the driver's seat or whatever. I've been dying to finish up this level anyway." He pulled his GameBoy out of his pocket as he walked over the passenger side, and I slipped into the car, liking the smooth black leather interior. "Long time no see, huh?" he said, as I adjusted the mirror. "I was totally pissed at you, I hope you know. After you left, that's when the smoking started."

I rolled my eyes. "Don't blame me that you've developed an addiction to sucking down cancer. Handle your own problems Matt."

"I could say the same to you."

I flinched, but kept my eyes on the road as I pulled away from the curb. There was business to be taken care of, no time for nonsense.

"But hey, Mello," he said, and I heard the sound of a video game theme begin. "You look hot, man."

I just grunted in response. Turning my face slightly to the side, I watched the stores go by for a few moments…

…and allowed myself the smallest of smiles.

* * *

_Ahh, I feel better now. Matt and Mello reunion completed._

_And, for that matter, Leather Bound Kitten is now completed. Yay! Thanks so much for reading and for the reviews, I'll try to reply to them when I get the time :)_


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